


Love Will Never Meet Here

by orphan_account



Series: Student/Teacher AU [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Multi, Teacher-Student Relationship, a boatload of angst, bad language and general rowdiness, ooc enjolras like woah, student!grantaire, teacher!enjolras, there may be smut later i'm not sure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-04 10:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire isn't too bothered about his A-Levels, planning to spend the final year of sixth-form getting drunk and messing around with his friends. That is, until he meets his new Government & Politics teacher.<br/>-<br/>Inspired by this graphic on tumblr: http://jehanprouvaired.tumblr.com/post/44408959081/enjolras-and-grantaire-modern-au-grantaire-as</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> Because I know next-to-nothing about the French education system, this is set in England. In a nutshell, you finish high school at sixteen, then you can choose to go on to college or sixth form. In sixth form, you choose 3-4 subjects, study them for two years, then take A-Levels, which enable you to go on to university. This makes Grantaire & co about 18 in this fic. In sixth form, you generally call your teachers by their first names, so hooray for not having to awkwardly make up names.  
> I did not take Government & Politics at A-Level, and I have no idea what goes on in Gov&Pol classes, so forgive me for bullshitting the lessons in this.  
> Anyway, hope you like it. Should be updating this pretty regularly.

Despite beginning the new school year with the best of intentions, Grantaire was already late for his first day. Having had a little too much fun the night before, he’d overslept, waking up to the shrill sound of his phone ringing. 

Still half-asleep and quite hungover, Grantaire reached out an arm blindly, grabbing his phone off the bedside table. 

“Mm.. ‘llo?” He said, his face still mashed into the pillows, muffling his voice beyond comprehension.

“Grantaire, where are you?” came Eponine’s voice from the other end, loud and anxious with the busy sound of the street in the background. “You were supposed to meet me half an hour ago.”

“What time’sit?” Grantaire half-moaned, scrubbing at his tired eyes with his free hand. He opened them a crack and whined at the brightness of the room around him. 

“Are you still in bed?!” Eponine shrieked, making Grantaire tear the phone from his ear. He could still hear a stream of agitated speech, even then, and slowly brought his phone back when the volume decreased. “-first day of term, I can’t believe you, Grantaire! Get here now, it’s almost nine!” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m getting up now, ‘Ponine,” Grantaire said, clearing his throat. “I’ll be there soon.” 

When he came strolling into school almost an hour later, with his art folder under his arm and a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, he was apprehended almost instantly. Principal Javert was waiting at the gates, stopping all late-comers and subjecting them to a thorough lecture on punctuality. His sharp eyes narrowed with savage glee when he caught Grantaire hastily disposing of his cigarette in an obliging drain, shouting a warning about smoking on school property. 

By the time Javert was finished with him, Grantaire gave up all hopes of going to his first lesson, and hung around in the quad, pulling out his phone. He had several missed calls and a few texts, mostly from Eponine, the tone of which grew more and more hysterical as he scrolled through them. There was a text from Jehan too, though, wishing him luck for the first day back, accompanied by a couple of lines of poetry. Grantaire replied with a smile, checked the time, and started a slow walk to his next class.

The worst thing was, Grantaire wasn’t even bothered about being late. He had no plans to go to university next year, after all, and was only at sixth form to pass the time. What was the point in wasting money he didn’t have on higher education, anyway? It would just be three more years in a stuffy classroom atmosphere to get him a boring job that he’d hate. 

He leant against the wall outside his next lesson, tapping his fingers absently on the bricks behind him and glaring at the ‘Department of GOVERNMENT AND POLITICS’ sign overhead. It wasn’t a subject he was particularly enthused about taking. Quite frankly, the hoards of idealists that the subject seemed to attract were irritating beyond belief, but Courfeyrac was in his class. They spent every single lesson last year messing around at the back of the class, making their elderly teacher’s life a living hell. He didn’t recognise the teacher’s initials on his new timetable though, so he supposed the two of them would have a new one to terrorise this year.

“GRANTAIRE!” 

As soon as Grantaire turned around to see who was calling his name, he almost fell to the ground with the force of the person jumping at him. All the air was knocked from his lungs, and he doubled over, wheezing as he was released.

“C-courf,” Grantaire managed to choke out, looking up at his grinning friend with watering eyes. “Jesus Christ!”

“Where have you been, man?” Courfeyrac asked, clapping Grantaire on the back and nearly making him fall over again. 

Still coughing, Grantaire glared at Courfeyrac, shoving him away. “You saw me yesterday, you absolute prat.” 

Courfeyrac was about to reply, when the classroom door opened and Grantaire felt breathless for a different reason. Framed in the door, with an intensely displeased expression on his face, was some kind of Greek god. 

“What is going on out here?” said the god, surveying Courfeyrac and Grantaire in turn. The man was beautiful, tall and blonde, with a profile like Michelangelo’s statue of David. 

“Noth-nothing,” Grantaire said. He attempted to straighten up as quickly and gracefully as he could, resting a nonchalant hand on the wall behind to support himself. “Nothing’s going on, just waiting. Waiting for class.” 

The other man gave another suspicious look at each of them, and stepped aside to let them into the room. Everyone else was already sat in their seats, with notebooks and pens at the ready. “The lesson started five minutes ago,” the man said, moving to stand in front of the board.

Holy shit, Grantaire thought as he shuffled in behind Courfeyrac. This guy was a teacher. His teacher. He looked young enough to be a student here. Grantaire and Courfeyrac dropped into two of the few remaining seats on the front row, and both internally kicked themselves for arriving late, after the good seats had all been taken. 

Grantaire was fumbling around for a pen, paying no mind to anything but the contents of his pockets, when he felt Courfeyrac elbow him in the ribs. “Ow – what?” he hissed, to which Courfeyrac responded with a jerk of his head towards the teacher, who was staring at them both.

“Your name?” the teacher repeated, raising an eyebrow. 

“Oh! Grantaire,” he supplied, pulling an old ballpoint pen from his jacket and setting it on the desk in front of him.

“I’m Enjolras, your new Government and Politics teacher,” the teacher said. “Which you would have known, had you bothered to be punctual.” He finally looked away from Grantaire and Courfeyrac, now addressing the class as a whole. “I will not tolerate lateness. Anyone who does not arrive at the correct time without a valid reason will not be admitted into the classroom.” 

Everyone sat up a little straighter at that, aside from Grantaire and Courfeyrac who traded smirks instead. 

“Now perhaps we can finally make a start,” said Enjolras, turning towards the board and writing a single word across the otherwise spotless white surface: FREEDOM. He raised an eyebrow and surveyed the class, his eyes skimming across Courfeyrac and Grantaire without pausing for a second. Apparently he’d already (correctly) categorised them as ‘trouble makers’. “What does it mean to you? Is there such a thing as true freedom? Does the state protect or prevent one’s individual freedom?”

As a girl a few rows back raised a hand and recited a generic text-book response, Grantaire zoned out, choosing to concentrate instead on his new teacher. Definitely fresh out of teaching school, possibly mid-twenties, if that. He was leaning against his desk, shirtsleeves rolled up to expose defined forearms, listening intently to the girl’s answer. His eyes were ridiculously blue, Grantaire could tell that much, even from this distance. 

Before he realised what he was doing, Grantaire was raising his hand. He felt everyone turn to stare at him, and caught a glimpse of Courfeyrac goggling at him out of the corner of his eye. 

“Yes? Grantaire, was it?” Enjolras asked, his tone slightly wary. 

With Enjolras’s full attention on him, Grantaire almost forgot what he was going to say. The sound of his own name was rendered something thrilling in the smooth tones of Enjolras’s voice. “Uh, yeah. I’m sorry, but that’s complete crap.”

“Would you care to elaborate?” 

Clearing his throat, Grantaire ploughed on. “Is anyone in here actually stupid enough to believe that they’re free? There are laws restricting every aspect of your life. You’re forced into education, you’re forced to get a job and then forced to pay the government to oppress you even more. You’re not even free to fight against it, not that things are ever going to change anyway. The system runs itself too efficiently. I didn’t sign up for that, it’s bullshit.”

“Language, please, Grantaire,” Enjolras said. “You make some good points, but I don’t think it’s quite as simple as that...” he hesitated for a second, his brow furrowing slightly. “You said that one does not have the freedom to fight against oppression, but I respectfully disagree. While society is still far from perfect, you can’t deny that progress has been made over the years. Yes?” He added, looking towards another raised hand on the back row.

Grantaire tried not to feel bothered by the fact that Enjolras’s attention had been diverted elsewhere, and glanced towards Courfeyrac who was still staring at him, open mouthed.

“What?” Grantaire muttered, raising his eyebrows. 

“Never, in fourteen years of school, have you ever volunteered an answer,” Courfeyrac hissed back. “Are you feeling alright?” 

Grantaire huffed a quiet laugh, glancing at Enjolras, who was still listening intently to the other student. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Courfeyrac didn’t miss Grantaire’s fleeting look at their teacher, though, and his eyes narrowed, his expression of utter disbelief immediately turning to a sly grin.

Shit.


	2. Really?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really much E/R this chapter, just lots and lots of talking. Sorry. Plenty of E/R in the next one, though!

Grantaire spent the rest of the lesson resolutely staring out of the window, or pretending to read the posters adorning the walls, or looking at anything other than Enjolras. Even so, he wasn’t deaf to Courfeyrac’s stifled snorts of laughter. He made a valiant attempt to escape the classroom without him, jumping out of his seat and running out into the safety of the corridor as soon as Enjolras dismissed everyone.

Surprisingly, he managed to make it halfway down the hall before Courfeyrac caught up, and was subjected to a series of increasingly suggestive remarks as they went to meet the rest of their gang in the on-site café. On their very first day of Sixth Form, Grantaire and Courfeyrac had laid an irrevocable claim on the largest table in the back corner of the café. Every day they lingered there for hours at a time, during lunch break, free periods, or just whenever they felt like skipping class. 

“Oh my God, it was hilarious,” Courfeyrac told Jehan and Marius, rocking back in his chair with an obscenely cheerful smile. “This is going to be the best year ever.”

“Can we please talk about something else?” Grantaire whined, leaning face-down on the table. 

Courfeyrac laughed. “Hey, it’s not my fault that you had a hard-on for the teacher.”

Marius’s eyes widened incredulously, his mouth dropping open. “Really?!” 

“No, I did not,” Grantaire said, looking up with a scowl, which grew more pronounced when he caught Courfeyrac giving an exaggerated nod out of the corner of his eye. In truth, Grantaire had come pretty close, hence the herculean effort to avoid looking at Enjolras, but Courfeyrac did not need to know that. 

Because even though he didn’t look at their teacher, he could still hear him, the feverish intensity with which he explained and argued a point. It had made Grantaire wonder if he’d be that forceful in bed, (and of course he would be, Grantaire could tell that much) which only set off a long chain of vivid scenarios into his head. And with that, Grantaire’s mind was wandering into dangerous territory again, so he coughed slightly and tried to distract himself. 

“Jehan, do we have art today?” Grantaire asked, angling himself away from Courfeyrac pointedly. With a theatrical “Well!”, Courfeyrac mirrored him, turning to joke with Marius, or rather, make fun of Marius. 

Although their sixth form required students to wear a particularly ugly uniform, Jehan could always be counted on to customise it to its very limits. Instead of the standard plain grey jumper, he turned up wearing some floral monstrosity; switched plain black shoes for glittery brogues; wore a fresh flower in the buttonhole of his blazer, and made Grantaire feel like a particularly ugly gargoyle in comparison. But somehow, Jehan got away with it. The teachers all loved him too much to tell him off; and amazingly, even Javert turned a blind eye. 

Placing a bookmark between the pages of his poetry journal, Jehan gave a kind smile. Grantaire should really spend more time with Jehan than with Courfeyrac, he thought to himself as Jehan began to reply, shielding him from further embarrassment. 

“Yes, we do,” Jehan said, twirling a strand of hair around his finger absently. “Next period. And we’ve got Feuilly again this year, so that’s good.” 

Grantaire murmured his agreement and listened carefully to Jehan as he talked art and poetry and everything in between, keeping his thoughts from straying to a certain blonde Politics teacher. When it was time to bid their friends goodbye and walk to the art department, Grantaire had almost forgotten all about Enjolras. Or at least, that’s what he tried to make himself believe.

Art class passed much too quickly, as it always did. Their teacher, Feuilly, was brilliant. He led extra-curricular sessions about papercutting, and decorated the classroom with Polish folk art, and generally gave them free-reign in class. During the lesson, he wandered around the room, telling all manner of stories about himself, whether they were true or not, Grantaire did not know. He liked to think they were. There was something about the man that spoke of hard work. Grantaire could imagine Feuilly teaching himself everything he knew, his hard work eventually paying off. It almost made Grantaire want to be less of a cynic. Almost.

Their first art project of the year was half research and half practical; Feuilly told them to study a particular art movement and then create a final piece in that style. Jehan immediately rushed to the bookshelves and pulled out everything related to the Pre-Raphaelites, staggering back to his workspace with at least ten heavy books. 

Grantaire followed behind, standing around and squinting at the haphazard stacks of text books. Finally, one caught his eye, and he took it back to his seat. 

“What have you got there?” Jehan asked, peering over the top of his reading glasses. 

“Greek and Roman sculpture,” Grantaire said innocently, holding it up to show his friend. And if he spent the rest of the lesson sketching blonde curls and flawless profiles, well he was only doing his work. 

At the end of the day, Grantaire was cornered by an exasperated Eponine near the front gates.

“And why weren’t you in Classics this morning?” She asked, arching an eyebrow in a way that definitely did not remind Grantaire of Enjolras. She plucked the cigarette from Grantaire’s lips and put it between her own, blowing a plume of smoke into his face when he began to protest.

“I don’t know, I was just late. Overslept,” Grantaire added when she continued to glare at him, rolling a fresh cigarette as they walked to the bus stop. The two of them had lived on the same street for years. It was in a less than desirable area of town, almost an hour’s walk away, but that couldn’t be helped. “Did I miss anything?”

Eponine shrugged. “You can borrow my notes, but Combeferre gave us an essay for Friday.”

“What?” Grantaire said, sticking his cigarette in his mouth and lighting the tip. “That bastard, no one’s actually going to do it, are they?”

“I might.”

Grantaire gave a snort in disbelief, but a quick glance at Eponine told him that she was being serious. “Really? Why?”

“Yes, really,” Eponine replied, exasperated. “Some of us actually want to pass our A-Levels, ‘Taire. There’s no way that I’m repeating a year again. I’m not ending up like Bahorel, God.” 

They both had to laugh at that. As much as they all loved Bahorel, the guy was 23 and still happily studying his A-Levels. In truth, that did make Grantaire want to put a little more effort into his schoolwork. 

Eponine cleared her throat slightly, and the next thing she said was almost too quiet for Grantaire to catch. “...and Marius asked if we could do the essay together.”

“Oh,” Grantaire said simply. Almost as soon as they had met Marius last year, Eponine had fallen head over heels in love with the boy. Unfortunately for her, he did not seem to return the sentiment. He didn’t even seem to notice Eponine as anything more than a friend, despite her best efforts. 

“But anyway, how was your day?” Eponine asked, tossing the remains of her cigarette in the gutter as they waited for the bus. “Courf told me-“

“Whatever Courf told you is a pack of lies,” Grantaire said sharply. “I did not have a boner in class, so he can fuck right off.” 

A couple of elderly women stood nearby looked around quickly, eyeing the two students and muttering about ‘young people these days’. Eponine stuck her middle finger up at them, and turned back to Grantaire.

“Actually,” she said, a slight smile curving her lips. “He just said that your new teacher is really hot.”

“Did he really?” Grantaire asked sceptically. Regardless, he had to confide in someone, so it may as well be his best friend. “But yes, our Gov and Pol teacher is very hot. I would probably say ‘divinely handsome’, though. And when he talks... He could have been anything, ‘Ponine, what the hell is he doing teaching in our dump of a school? Christ, I’m never skipping that class again.” 

Laughing, Eponine half jumped into the road to stop the approaching bus, and Grantaire hastened to follow her. They climbed onto the bus together, and did not speak again until they had found a seat on the back row, next to a tracksuit-clad teenager with tinny music blaring from his headphones. “Just be careful, alright? I don’t want you to get hurt,” Eponine said, and although she was still smiling, her eyes were cautious. 

“Of course,” Grantaire agreed, putting an arm around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many times did I use the word 'really' in this chapter??  
> Spoiler - a damn lot. 
> 
> If you spot any typos, please let me know, it's 4:30am and I am TIRED.
> 
> Thanks for reading xx


	3. A Little Fall of Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've upped the rating because there WILL be smut. Eventually.

After a few weeks into the term, Grantaire managed to keep himself under control in his Government & Politics lessons. Over the course of the first week, he and Courfeyrac had gradually migrated to the back of the classroom, and although the view of Enjolras wasn’t as good a few rows back, Grantaire could stare at their teacher as much as he liked. It had been difficult to be discreet when the object of his obsession was just a metre away, especially when Enjolras’s crotch was at eye-level as he walked back and forth in front of the board. 

For the first time in his life, Grantaire’s attendance was above the 50% mark. He diligently attended every Politics lesson, and only skipped Art or Classics when he overslept or otherwise felt rough. In fact, he even made an effort to get homework done every once in a while, although it was not up to a particularly impressive standard. But still, he was trying. 

He suspected that either Jehan or Eponine had scolded Courfeyrac for his relentless teasing, since Grantaire was largely permitted to nurture his crush in peace, without having to suffer too many of Courf’s disgustingly crude comments. Certainly, Eponine wasn’t too concerned about the reason behind Grantaire’s sudden increase in productiveness, as long as he was actually going to school. 

In addition, Grantaire made a conscious effort not to embarrass himself in the class discussions in Government & Politics, not volunteering an opinion unless he was called on for an answer. He supposed it was the adrenaline coursing through his veins at the sheer thrill of seeing Enjolras for the first time that had allowed him to talk freely in that first lesson. Every time since, he’d looked up to see Enjolras’s unwavering stare on his face and stumbled over his words. It was like staring into the sun after being in the dark for a year, looking at that set of perfect features, bright blue eyes alight with the fire of enthusiasm. 

On the rare occasions that Grantaire was asked to volunteer an opinion, he muttered one of his trademark cynical responses, trying not to look his teacher in the eye. He made the mistake of looking up once, catching sight of a flicker of disappointment passing across Enjolras’s face before it once again hardened into professionalism. Grantaire’s stomach had clenched, and he’d started his drinking a little earlier that day. 

Eventually, Enjolras stopped asking Grantaire. When looking around for someone to pick on, his gaze passed over Grantaire completely, and moved straight to Courfeyrac. 

“You’re so lucky,” Courfeyrac said after a long, taxing lesson, in which he had been called upon by Enjolras no less than three times. “He never picks you.”

In reply, Grantaire laughed. “I guess so,” he replied after a minute, though his tone was brittle and his agreement insincere. 

He hung around with Courfeyrac outside Jehan’s Literature class for a while, interjecting the occasional ‘yeah’ as Courf prattled on, then left them at the library together. In truth, Grantaire wasn’t sure what was going on between the two of them, but he’d caught Courfeyrac reading a Pablo Neruda anthology the day before, and had spotted a few lines of poetry scrawled on the back of his hand in Jehan’s neat, curling script. 

As soon as Grantaire left the main building, he swore under his breath. In an astonishing turn of events, it was raining in England. He checked the time on his phone and swore again, realising he’d missed the bus; the next wasn’t for another hour. Reluctant to wander back to the library and disturb his friends (he suspected that their ‘study session’ was some kind of casual date) he took a deep breath and stepped out into the downpour, bracing himself for the long walk home. He didn’t even have Eponine for company, because she was fortunate enough to finish at lunchtime on Thursdays. 

Grantaire had been walking for barely five minutes before he was soaked to the skin, his dark curls plastered to his forehead, and his clothes uncomfortably wet. Not only had the rain worsened, every passing car seemed to speed up when they caught sight of Grantaire trudging along the pavement, racing through the puddles and sending a tidal wave of cold water to splash over him. 

Hearing another vehicle approaching, Grantaire tried to press himself into the wall at the side of the narrow path to avoid another splash of water. He got ready to make another rude hand gesture, but was surprised, however, when the car slowed and eventually stopped at the side of the road. Glancing towards the car, the breath caught in his throat as the passenger window rolled down and the driver leant across.

“Grantaire? Is that you?” came a voice that Grantaire would recognise anywhere, especially from his most frequent fantasies. 

With a slight cough, Grantaire bent down slightly to look through the window. “Oh, hello,” he said, trying to keep his tone as nonchalant as possible. “Lovely weather today, isn’t it?”

“Quick, get in,” Enjolras said, his eyes wide with concern. “You’re soaked, let me drive you home.”

As tempting as that offer was, Grantaire shuffled his feet a bit. “Don’t worry, I live quite nearby.” 

“Even so, I insist,” Enjolras said, leaving no room for argument. 

After another brief moment of hesitation, Grantaire shuffled over to Enjolras’s car (quite a nice one too, how much did teachers get paid nowadays?) and hopped inside. He ran a hand through his hair, causing a shower of water droplets to fall into his lap, and wiped his sleeve over his face in a futile attempt to dry it. When he looked back at Enjolras, he was staring at him expectantly.

“Seatbelt,” his teacher ordered, in much the same voice he issued classroom instructions. A car waiting behind beeped its horn, and Enjolras started to drive again, glancing briefly at his student. “Where do you live?” 

Grantaire told him, and to his credit, Enjolras didn’t flinch at the address. He did, however, turn to give him a stern glare as they stopped at a red light. “That’s miles away, Grantaire. You would have been half-dead with cold by the time you got home.”

Trying to ignore the flare of excitement he felt from Enjolras’s concern, Grantaire shrugged. “It’s fine.” He felt unbearably awkward, but at the same time, wanted the car ride to last forever. While Enjolras concentrated on the road, Grantaire could sneak glances at him from beneath his lashes, committing every inch of him to memory, comparing the sight of him now with the Enjolras he usually saw in class.

Now, Enjolras had unbuttoned his collar and loosened his tie, exposing the long curve of his neck and a fraction of his chest. His posture was more relaxed, the hard line of his mouth softened. Grantaire’s eyes were drawn to the nape of Enjolras’s neck, where his golden hair curled slightly at the ends. The moisture in the air had freed it from its gelled hold, and Grantaire smiled to himself. He’d suspected that if Enjolras’s hair was a little longer it would be curly, like one of the Greek statues he otherwise perfectly resembled. 

“So, Grantaire,” Enjolras said, after a few minutes of silence. “What other subjects do you take?”

Grantaire stared at him for a couple of seconds before he registered what he had said. “Well, Gov & Pol, obviously. And then Classics and Art.”

“That’s interesting. What do you want to do with that?” Enjolras tapped his fingertips on the steering wheel as he spoke, before curling his hand around it. 

With some effort, Grantaire tore his eyes from Enjolras’s fingers, forced his mind to remain fixed on the conversation instead of veering off into inappropriate thoughts. “I don’t know, I’m eighteen. What eighteen year old knows what they want to do?”

“I did,” Enjolras replied with a chuckle. “I’ve always wanted to teach, to be able to do what I love and inspire others while doing it.”

To his surprise, Grantaire was finding it unusually straightforward to talk to Enjolras outside of the classroom environment. His replies came quickly and easily, and he even felt quite relaxed, despite the fact that Enjolras was close enough to touch, his hand reaching across to the gearstick just inches away from Grantaire. Moreover, Enjolras hadn’t spoken this many words to him in weeks. 

“One of those optimistic ‘change the world, one kid at a time’ types, huh?” Grantaire asked, raising his eyebrows.

“That’s right. Although, more than one, hopefully.” They were quiet for another minute or two, before Enjolras spoke again. “Are you going to university next year?” 

Grantaire gave a derisive snort of laughter. “Why bother?” 

“Well, it’s not for everyone,” Enjolras said fairly. “But I would advise you to consider it. You’re a smart boy, Grantaire, you just need a little motivation.”

“And a little bit of cash,” Grantaire replied under his breath. 

Enjolras heard him, though, and gave another little laugh, the sound of which Grantaire stored away in the back of his mind. They talked for a little while longer, the conversation revolving mainly around school, but it was a conversation nonetheless, the first time Grantaire had been able to talk to his teacher without feeling humiliated or insignificant. He managed to elicit a few more laughs from Enjolras, too, and he was quite proud of that. Until then, Enjolras had been all business in class, barely smiling, let alone laughing. 

They pulled up in front of Grantaire’s house much too quickly for his liking. “Well, thanks,” Grantaire said, after a moment of awkward pause. 

“No problem at all. What kind of teacher would I be if I let one of my students walk home in the rain?” Enjolras said, his mouth twitching up in a smile. 

Right, of course, that’s all this was. A teacher doing the decent thing and saving his student from a water-induced illness. Nothing else, R, you idiot, Grantaire chided himself silently. “Okay, well I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” He felt colour rushing to his cheeks as he fiddled with the seatbelt and began to step out of the car, cringing as he remembered the puddle of rainwater he must have dripped onto the passenger seat. 

“Grantaire!” Enjolras said suddenly, and grabbed Grantaire’s arm. He hesitated briefly, as Grantaire whipped around to look at him, before clearing his throat and letting go. “Don’t... don’t forget to do your homework.” 

“Sure,” Grantaire said breathlessly, and jogged through the rain up to his front door. As he fumbled with his keys, he glanced back to the road, where Enjolras’s car was pulling away. 

Running up the stairs as quickly as he could, Grantaire got into his bedroom and slammed the door behind him. He leant against the wood, sinking to the floor. With the ghost of Enjolras’s touch on his arm overwhelming him, (it had felt hot, searing right down to Grantaire’s skin, even through the many layers of wet clothing) and the intensity of Enjolras’s gaze heavy on his mind, Grantaire slipped a hand down his trousers and into his underwear, letting out a soft groan as his fingertips grasped his cock. He came after an embarrassingly short amount of time, gasping Enjolras’s bitten off name as he found his release.


	4. Friday, I'm in love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst with a side order of disappointment. Sorry, guys.

The time between Grantaire saying goodbye to Enjolras, and calming down after his hurried orgasm had served to make him disregard any doubts he might have had previously. Whether Enjolras was his teacher or not, something had passed between them, something unacknowledged and confusing. When his breathing had evened out and his heart stopped pounding, Grantaire pulled his phone from his pocket with trembling hands and called Eponine. However, he had still been too euphoric to relay everything that had happened with any degree of restraint, talking at her for almost half an hour before she interrupted him.

“You know what, ‘Taire,” Eponine said, only half listening. “Why don’t you just relax and tell me properly tomorrow?”

So, after a night of restless sleep, Grantaire met Eponine on the way to school the next day. The incident had replayed itself over and over again in Grantaire’s head all evening, becoming more obscene and further from the truth each time. 

Even so, he recounted it to Eponine with as much honesty as he could muster. For her part as the listener, she seemed a little disappointed. “Let me get this straight,” she said, eyebrows raised. 

Had she always had that mannerism? Grantaire thought to himself, racking his brains. Or was he just noticing it more now, since it was a favourite of Enjolras’s?

“You were walking home in the rain – like an idiot, by the way, I did tell you not to wait around for Courfeyrac – and your sexy Politics teacher drives by and picks you up,” Eponine began, lounging across the back bench of the bus, feet up on the seat next to Grantaire. “You talk about school until you get back to your place, then he touches your arm and tells you not to forget to do your homework?”

“Well, I think you’re oversimplifying it a little-“ Grantaire argued, before Eponine threw her hands up in the air. “What?”

“Jesus, ‘Taire,” Eponine said, equal parts exasperated and amused. “The way you were going on about it last night, it sounded like the beginning of a cliché porno.”

Grantaire made a choking sound, his cheeks reddening. “I’m willing to admit that maybe I exaggerated a bit... But you weren’t there, okay. The way he looked at me, there was nothing friendly about that, let me tell you now.”

Blowing a bubble with her chewing gum, Eponine shot him a withering look and popped it with a loud crack. “I’m really convinced.”

“Pot, kettle, black,” Grantaire muttered under his breath, earning a sharp kick on the knee. 

“That’s completely different, and you know it,” Eponine retorted, though she didn’t seem too convinced. She wasn’t stupid. Both she and Grantaire knew that if something was going to happen between Eponine and Marius, it would have happened by now; there had been plenty of opportunities. Personally, Grantaire thought Marius was a complete prat for ignoring Eponine’s pointed advances, and that he didn’t deserve her anyway. But then again, Grantaire was morally obligated as her best friend to think that way.

In fact, Eponine’s chances with Marius fell from slim to none less than an hour later. 

The three of them were sat together in first period Classics, chatting absently while they waited for Combeferre to start the lesson, when there was a soft knock at the door. A petite girl with perfectly coiffed blonde hair came into the room, an expensive-looking handbag slung over her arm. Grantaire watched her for all of two seconds, before writing her off as ‘Barbie’ and turning back to Eponine.

“Hello,” the girl said, her voice high and quiet. She walked up to where Combeferre sat at his desk, shuffling through a stack of papers. “I’m Cosette, I think my father mentioned me?”

Grantaire heard a breathy ‘Cosette’ from his left, and both he and Eponine whipped their heads around to stare at Marius. He was sat bolt upright, glazed eyes fixed on the girl at the front of the room. His mouth was curving into a dopey smile as he stared, and Grantaire saw Eponine clench her hands into fists.

“Oh, of course,” Combeferre said, handing the girl a sheaf of paper. “Welcome to the class. There’s a seat for you just over there.” He nodded to a space on the front row.

Cosette murmured her thanks, and turned to take her place, her eyes flicking around the class briefly before they fell on Marius. And stuck there. Even when she settled into her chair, she peeked over her shoulder at him, a shy little smile on her face. 

Feeling for Eponine’s hand under the table, Grantaire grasped it and tried not to wince when he felt fingernails digging into his skin. 

Things went from bad to worse at the end of the lesson. Marius had spent the whole hour doodling and embellishing a large ‘M + C’ in the margin of his notebook. Who even did stuff like that, apart from ten year old girls? Grantaire thought, sickened, ignoring his treacherous subconscious as it reminded him: How is that any different to filling your sketchbook with drawings of Enjolras?

After Cosette had left the room with a final smile in Marius’s direction, Marius cornered Eponine, his expression feverish. “Eponine, you have to talk to her and introduce us,” he begged, grasping her arm. “I’m terrible with that kind of thing, you know I am.” 

Grantaire frowned, watching the exchange cautiously. He still had Eponine’s hand clasped in his, rubbing a soothing pattern on her wrist with his thumb. It was only out of respect for his best friend that he stopped himself from making a scene right there. Even if Marius was totally oblivious, he was being unbearably insensitive. “Why can’t you do it yourself?” Grantaire asked sharply.

“It’s fine,” Eponine said, as Marius opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish. The hollow tone of Eponine’s voice made Grantaire want to punch their stupid friend, damn the consequences. “I don’t mind.”

Marius gave Eponine an excited one-armed hug, and dashed off to his next class, leaving Grantaire and Eponine stood in the corridor. 

“Fuck him, you’re too good for his freckly ginger ass,” Grantaire told Eponine, giving her hand a squeeze. At a loss for what to say, he started walking towards the Politics department, Eponine silent beside him. “What do you have next?” 

“Free period,” Eponine replied. 

Grantaire hesitated for a second. “Do you want me to skip Gov & Pol? We can blow off school for the afternoon, go into town and get coffee or something.” 

“No, no,” Eponine said, almost snapping back into her usual self. “You can’t skip for something as dumb as this. I’m not going to make you miss out on an hour with your Greek God to sit and watch me sulk instead. I’ll get over it.” 

Although he wasn’t convinced, Grantaire was reluctant to ruin his perfect Politics attendance. Besides, he wanted to see how Enjolras would act towards him today, after their moment in the car. 

When they reached Enjolras’s classroom, Grantaire stood in the open doorway and enfolded Eponine in a hug, pressing a kiss to her cheek and whispering in her ear. “I’ll see you later.” He watched her wander away, before turning and going into the classroom. 

One glance at Enjolras made his stomach drop. His expression was blank as he looked right back at Grantaire, though the hard line of his mouth was more pronounced than usual. 

Nothing had changed, Grantaire realised. Automatically going to sit next to Courfeyrac at the back of the class, Grantaire bit his lip and cursed himself. What had he expected? For Enjolras to jump at him and ask him out? Enjolras was his teacher; anything that might have happened yesterday was just a split-second slip in his professional manner that Grantaire’s excitement had led him to misinterpret. And people asked him why he was such a cynic. Why bother hoping for anything when nothing ever worked out the way you wanted it to?

If it were possible, Enjolras was even more distant to Grantaire than in lessons past. He didn’t even bother to shout at Grantaire when his phone rang, just paused in his explanation of Marxist-Leninism and waited for the sound to stop before he ploughed on with steely determination. 

Grantaire didn’t even want to look at him. Instead, he texted Eponine, wishing he hadn’t bothered coming to class, and ignored Courfeyrac’s whispered questions with undeserved cruelty. The second the lesson ended, Grantaire stood up and left Courfeyrac behind again.

As Grantaire walked past the front desk on his way out, he saw Enjolras run a hand through his hair, inhaling deeply as he leant back in his seat. 

Taking his phone out, he speed-dialled Eponine and started talking as soon as she picked up. “Fuck school. It’s Friday, let’s get shitfaced.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't get me wrong, I love Marius. He's just a bit of a dipstick.


	5. Intervention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bleh, I'm really not happy with this chapter. But I'm SICK of looking at it and I want things to start progressing a bit quicker, so here you go. Next chapter will be better, hopefully xxxxx

It didn’t take long for Marius and Cosette to become an item. In fact, within a fortnight they were officially dating. Both Eponine and Grantaire should have hated Cosette as a matter of principle, but the girl was kind of an angel. Still, that didn’t mean that Grantaire wasn’t sick and tired of hearing Marius talk about her.

“She’s just so amazing,” Marius breathed, staring off into space as he sat with Grantaire and Bahorel just outside school. “Really, really beautiful... And so lovely...”

The three of them were perched on a low brick wall opposite the school gates, with Grantaire and Bahorel sharing a pack of cigarettes and gulping from a bottle of Jack and coke. Principal Javert lurked around the entrance like a guard dog, glaring at them across the road and very nearly foaming at the mouth.

Technically, they weren’t doing anything wrong; they weren’t on school property, after all. Grantaire raised his bottle in a mock toast to the principal and took a swig, relishing the hot burn of whisky down his throat. He passed it over to Bahorel, who copied his gesture.

“Doesn’t he have anything better to do?” Bahorel said, watching as Javert barked at a pair of girls as soon as they set foot inside the gates. The two girls refastened their ties and shrugged into their blazers before they were admitted into the school. “Bastard, he’s always prowling around.”

“Cosette has such perfect hair, doesn’t she? It’s curly, but not too curly, not like Grantaire’s...” Marius was saying, more to himself than to the others. “And her laugh...”

Grantaire rolled his eyes at Bahorel and ignored Marius, as he had been doing almost constantly for the past two weeks. He had also been skipping every single Government and Politics lesson, making feeble excuses to Courfeyrac and hanging around in the cafe instead. Although he attended most of his Art and Classics lessons, he was distant and sullen, snapping at his teachers and making a poor show of work. He couldn’t even be bothered to feel like an idiot for getting so worked up over Enjolras.

“You know Cosette’s taking A-Level Classics a year early? Isn’t that amazing?” Marius said, turning to his friends with that far-away look still in his eyes.

“Yes, Marius, we know,” Grantaire said with as much patience as he could muster, which was wearing thin by this point. The only reason he had tolerated Marius’s lovestruck mooning for so long was because it reminded him, rather painfully, of how he’d gone on at great length about Enjolras in the first few weeks of term. “It’s only the hundredth time you’ve told us,” he added under his breath.

“She’s a first year, but they moved her up into my class. She’s so smart...”

“Marius! Shut the fuck up about Cosette already, please!” Bahorel snapped, after draining the last of the whiskey and coke.

Affronted, Marius snapped out of his daydream and blushed to the roots of his hair. “S-sorry,” he said with some embarrassment, and Grantaire ruffled his hair with his free hand.

“Although what do you mean, too curly?” Grantaire asked, narrowing his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with my hair.”

Spluttering, Marius flushed even further. Luckily, he was rescued as Jehan and Courfeyrac wandered up, their hands entwined. They were wearing each other’s scarves, Jehan with Courfeyrac’s red one setting off the colour of his hair, and Courfeyrac with one of Jehan’s flowery things.

“Hello, everyone,” Jehan said, climbing up on the wall and sitting next to Grantaire. “Courf and I think that you should go to Politics today, Grantaire.”

Grantaire began to whine in protest, before Jehan quelled him with a look.

“Seriously, Grantaire, I’m not going to keep covering for you,” Courfeyrac said, settling down beside Jehan. “I swear to God, if you don’t go today, I’m telling Enjolras that you’re not in class because you’ve got a debilitating venereal disease.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Grantaire said, aghast.

“Oh, honey, you know I would.”

Ten minutes later, Grantaire found himself being frogmarched into the Politics department by Courfeyrac and Bahorel, who did not have Politics, but went along in the capacity of extra muscle, just in case Grantaire bottled out at the last second.

He shuffled into the room behind Courfeyrac, and was relieved to see that Enjolras wasn’t in the room yet. At least that meant he wouldn’t be embarrassed in front of the class as he made his entrance; Grantaire wasn’t sure if Enjolras would have been more likely to ask him where he’d been, or ignore him entirely.

When Enjolras did walk into class less than a minute later, Grantaire was safely installed in his seat at the back of the room. After two weeks spent avoiding his teacher at all costs, the sight of Enjolras hit Grantaire like a ton of bricks. He looked more formidable and more attractive than ever before.

Closing the door behind him and walking to his desk, his gaze flicked briefly to the back row. Enjolras looked away, then back, so swiftly that if Grantaire hadn’t been staring at him, he would have missed it. He hesitated for a second, swallowing hard, and moved to sit at his desk.

Grantaire’s palms felt hot. Throughout the lesson, Enjolras seemed distracted. No less fierce in his discourse, but every now and again, he caught Grantaire’s eye and paused for a fraction of a second. Hopefully, that meant that his teacher didn’t know how to react to his sudden reappearance in class, and that he would get off lightly.

At any rate, that’s what Grantaire was hoping for. Despite the fact that he’d been racking his brains for any half-convincing lie, he had no idea how to explain his absences without sounding like a prat. He couldn’t even explain it to himself; he had just been utterly crushed after Enjolras acted so oddly around him. Maybe he’d thought a little time away from his teacher would be a good thing, perhaps it would even serve to lessen his obsession with the man. Needless to say, that wasn’t the result.

“Just a minute, Grantaire,” Enjolras said quickly, as Grantaire tried to make a speedy getaway the very second class was dismissed. “Can I talk to you?”

With Courfeyrac’s whispered “Good Luck” in his ear, and a clap on the back that was supposed to be reassuring, but really made Grantaire’s knees buckle, Grantaire made his way to Enjolras’s desk.

Enjolras waited for the door to swing closed after the last student before he looked at Grantaire again. “Well, welcome back,” he said after a moment. “Dare I ask where you’ve been?”

“You probably wouldn’t like the answer,” Grantaire replied with a cough, fidgeting with his cuffs, picking at a hole in the edge of his sweater. He was never going to forgive Courfeyrac for this. Wistfully, he thought of how he could have spent the past hour messing around with Bahorel, getting tipsy on spiked coke.

“So you have no excuse whatsoever for missing ten consecutive lessons?” Enjolras said coldly, making Grantaire feel about an inch tall, although he was the one standing.

“No,” Grantaire murmured in reply. He wanted more than anything to be able to shout, scream at Enjolras and tell him everything. How he thought about him constantly; wanted to get his attention in any way that he could, even if it were negative.

Grantaire chanced a look up at Enjolras from beneath the shaggy sweep of his hair and felt even worse, if that was possible. Enjolras didn’t even look angry, he looked disappointed.

“Does this mean _anything_ to you?” Enjolras asked, his voice softer now.

There was a beat of silence that stretched as Grantaire tried to figure out what that was supposed to mean. Was he just referring to school or class or something else? Grantaire was completely lost.

Before Grantaire could come up with a satisfactory reply, Enjolras let out a deep breath, rifling through a pile of handouts on his desk. He extracted a sizeable stack of papers and stood up, holding them out to Grantaire. “This is everything you’ve missed.”

As Grantaire reached across the desk, Enjolras’s grip on the paper shifted slightly, brushing Grantaire’s fingers with his own.

Grantaire’s breath caught in his throat, and it took a few long seconds for him to realise that neither he nor Enjolras was moving away. In fact, Enjolras was staring at him with the kind of intensity that he recognised from the time he drove Grantaire home, his blue eyes even brighter with something akin to passion.

Tearing his eyes away from Enjolras’s felt almost impossible, but Grantaire’s gaze darted down to his lips instead, slightly wet as if he’d just licked them.

“Grantaire, I...” Enjolras began to murmur, so close that Grantaire could feel his breath on his cheek. “Just don’t skip class again, alright?”

Grantaire felt like he was having some kind of mental breakdown. He couldn’t even remember how to breathe properly, let alone how to formulate speech, so gave a little incline of his head instead.

Stepping away at last, and jolting Grantaire out of his trancelike state, Enjolras ran a hand through his hair, sinking back into his chair. Taking that as a dismissal, Grantaire stumbled out of the room, his heart beating a mile a minute, and tried to think of dead kittens, or Mufasa being thrown off the cliff in the Lion King, or absolutely anything that would prevent every drop of blood in his body from rapidly heading south.

For once Grantaire was glad of the cold weather, managing to find his way outside and into the quad, where he took as many deep, steadying breaths as he could. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t get Enjolras out of his mind, and felt even more confused than before. As was his default reaction in times of crisis when alcohol wasn’t immediately to hand, he dug his phone from his pocket and called Eponine.


	6. The Voice of Reason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras POV :)

After the shock of seeing Grantaire back in class, Enjolras had been driven to distraction. Now he was alone in his classroom, he thought over how he’d acted during the lesson and scolded himself for being so unfocused. Every now and again, he had looked over at Grantaire and completely lost track of what he was saying, which was a problem in itself. 

Enjolras did not like to be taken by surprise; he liked to imagine every eventuality and prepare accordingly. But since Grantaire had walked into the first lesson of term, he managed to catch Enjolras off guard, with his fierce argument and sharp tongue, and earned his respect. Enjolras had thought that day that Grantaire might be an excellent addition to the class, despite his cynicism. 

But then, he had changed tack entirely, remaining sullen and silent in every lesson; Enjolras had been absolutely bewildered. Then he’d skipped ten lessons in a row. That was particularly confusing. Enjolras knew Grantaire hadn’t been ill; he had still been attending most of Combeferre and Feuilly’s lessons. He could only assume it was something he’d done. 

Perhaps he’d acted wrongly towards him? Since the day he’d driven him home, Enjolras had begun to suspect that his feelings towards Grantaire weren’t strictly appropriate for a teacher to have for one of his students. Now, he was sure they weren’t. He didn’t want to admit it, but Grantaire had unwittingly dug his way under Enjolras’s skin, and didn’t look to be leaving any time soon. 

Maybe Grantaire had been uncomfortable? Felt pressured? There were just too many variables to consider, Enjolras thought, scrubbing a hand over his face in frustration. He needed to seek a second opinion.

Enjolras found the other Government & Politics teachers insufferable to be around, and avoided the departmental staff room at all costs, usually spending his free periods catching up on marking in his classroom. On rare occasions, however, he ventured into the communal staff room, where Combeferre could often be found, and headed in that direction as soon as the lunch break began.

Luckily, Combeferre was already sat reading at a table when Enjolras entered, sparing him from having to exchange awkward pleasantries with colleagues he didn’t particularly like. He crossed the room to sit with Combeferre, nodding towards Joly, the hypochondriac school nurse, and Bossuet, one of the Statistics teachers, where they stood together at the coffee machine. 

“Enjolras,” Combeferre said by way of greeting, setting his book down with a wry smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

Enjolras smiled, grateful for Combeferre’s perceptiveness. The two of them had been friends since high school, attending college and even teacher training school together. Combeferre was actually a large part of the reason Enjolras got a job here, informing his old friend as soon as he heard that Dr Lamarque was retiring. “You have Grantaire in one of your Classics classes, don’t you?” Enjolras began, trying to sound casual. 

“Yes, that’s right,” Combeferre said, surprised. 

“Has he been acting unusually recently?” 

“I haven’t really noticed anything. I suppose he’s been quieter in class, hasn’t bothered turning in any homework, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary,” Combeferre said thoughtfully, then paused for a moment. “If anything, he was acting unusually at the start of term.”

“How do you mean?” Enjolras asked curiously.

“Well, he turned up to more lessons for one thing,” Combeferre replied with a soft chuckle. “Did his homework, behaved in class, but I guess he got bored of that. He started slipping back into his old bad habits after a few weeks. Why do you ask?” 

Enjolras glanced around, checking there was no chance of being overheard. “I’ve done something,” he said in a low voice, wondering how best to phrase his thoughts. “I believe I may have acted out of turn. I can trust you to be discreet, can’t I, ‘Ferre?” 

Frowning, Combeferre leaned a little closer to Enjolras, his voice dropping to the same quiet volume. “Of course, Enjolras. What have you done?” 

“I think I have feelings for him,” Enjolras said, avoiding Combeferre’s gaze out of sheer mortification. “Nothing serious has happened, not yet, but-“

Combeferre held up a hand to silence him. Thankfully, when he spoke, his tone was neutral rather than judgmental. “What do you mean ‘not yet’? You can’t seriously be thinking of...?” 

“I don’t know what I’m thinking, ‘Ferre,” Enjolras said wearily, dropping his face into his hands. “I don’t know what to do, but I think I know what I want.”

After a full minute of silence, in which Enjolras could practically hear Combeferre’s mind whirring as he processed that information, his friend looked back at him. “Allow me to be frank,” Combeferre said, taking his glasses off and wiping the lenses on his jumper. Enjolras was always surprised by how much younger Combeferre looked without them, less like his sensible friend and more vulnerable. 

Enjolras inclined his head slightly, and Combeferre continued. 

“This has the potential to become an extremely precarious situation,” Combeferre said calmly. “Obviously nothing can happen while Grantaire’s a student here. You would probably lose your job. You might not be able to find another, and I swear to God, Enjolras, if you throw away everything you’ve worked for...” He paused, replacing his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “But then again, in all the time I’ve known you, you’ve had neither the time nor the inclination for relationships. This boy must be something special for you to risk everything.” 

“I believe he is,” Enjolras agreed quietly. He was so strongly and inexplicably drawn to Grantaire, yet he couldn’t even begin to explain why. That was exactly the thing that scared him. 

“I think you have two options here,” Combeferre replied, folding his hands on the table in front of him. It made him look a little like a judge. “You can ignore whatever this is, and treat Grantaire as you treat your other students. Perhaps that would be more prudent, as you’re the one with everything to lose.” 

Enjolras waited for a second, then bit his lip. “And the second option?” 

With a sigh, Combeferre shook his head. “You can talk to Grantaire. Clear the air and calmly explain that while he is a student here, it would be madness to try and take your relationship further. When he leaves, however...” 

Closing his eyes, Enjolras took a deep breath. He had been expecting to hear something like that, but that didn’t mean he’d wanted to hear it. “Thank you, Combeferre,” he said, keeping his voice level as he stood up. “You’re a good friend.”

“You’re welcome,” Combeferre said gently, picking his book back up. “Just tread very carefully, Enjolras.”

“I will,” Enjolras said, waving a swift goodbye to Joly and Bossuet as he left. 

On the way back to his classroom, Enjolras thought over what Combeferre had said with a heavy heart. How could he possibly ignore Grantaire entirely? He had already tried that, and failed dismally. So, what? He supposed he had to talk to Grantaire, although he had no idea what to say. Moreover, he didn’t trust himself to be alone with him again; both times previously, Enjolras’s self-control had almost given way. 

But his decision was made for him when he stepped back into his classroom. 

“Hello,” Grantaire said, from where he was perched on the edge of Enjolras’s desk. The first few buttons of his shirt were undone; his tie hanging halfway down his chest, and Enjolras forced himself not to stare at the pale skin of Grantaire’s throat. It reminded him of the evening he’d driven Grantaire home, how his clothing had clung to every inch of him, a memory that revisited Enjolras at the most inopportune moments. 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said cautiously, edging over towards him. “What can I do for you?” After hovering beside his desk for a second, he chose to sit on the front row of desks, his body angled towards Grantaire, but a safe enough distance away to stop himself from doing anything rash.

“Do you like me?” Grantaire blurted out suddenly, his cheeks immediately beginning to flood with colour. “Because I really can’t figure you out.” He glanced up at Enjolras from beneath his curls, curls that Enjolras dreamed about, that he wanted to tangle his fingers in and just pull. 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras repeated, trying to think as quickly as possible. He really didn’t like surprises. “I am your teacher.”

“Yes, I know,” Grantaire said. “But I’m right, aren’t I? You do like me?” 

Deciding that honesty was the best policy, Enjolras nodded reluctantly. He tried not to feel so excited about having this conversation with Grantaire, reminding himself that nothing good could come of his forwardness. But he caught sight of Grantaire’s earnestly wide smile, and found himself hoping in spite of everything.

With a little laugh, Grantaire hopped down from Enjolras’s desk and moved forwards, and never before had Enjolras been so glad that his classroom was on the top floor. No doubt, anyone looking through the window would have been aghast to see Grantaire pushing Enjolras’s knees apart and stepping between them. He felt Grantaire gingerly place his hands on his shoulders, and Enjolras hardly dared move. They were more or less at the same height now, and Grantaire’s eyes were so blue, darker than his own, but no less bright. 

“I like you too,” Grantaire breathed, his face just inches away. “But I guess you knew that already.”

“I didn’t actually,” Enjolras said softly, his mouth quirking up into a smile as he slid his hands up Grantaire’s back. “I wasn’t sure. I thought you had a girlfriend.”

Raising his eyebrows, Grantaire looked steadily at Enjolras. “You don’t mean Eponine, do you? Because we’re just friends. God, it’d be like doing my sister.”

Enjolras wrinkled his nose, but felt relieved anyway. “Like I said, I wasn’t sure.”

Laughing again, Grantaire rubbed his thumbs over Enjolras’s collarbones through the material of his clothes. “How could you not be sure? You’re perfect. When I walked into that first class, I thought you’d wandered out of a museum or something.”

Enjolras frowned. Was Grantaire trying to make a comment about his age? He was only twenty-three, and in the grand scheme of things, the five years between them wasn’t much. 

“I just meant that you looked like a statue,” Grantaire explained quickly. “Like Antinous, or Bernini’s Apollo...” Reverently, he traced the line of Enjolras’s nose with his forefinger, his touch feather light. 

As much as that gesture made him shiver with anticipation, it brought Enjolras back to earth and his mind back to the task at hand. He was supposed to be explaining that he couldn’t do anything with Grantaire, and here they were, in a classroom of all places, with their hands all over each other. “We can’t do this, Grantaire,” Enjolras said softly, and Grantaire’s hurt expression felt like a knife twisting in his ribcage. “This wouldn’t be right.”

“Why not?” Grantaire challenged.

“You’re my student, it would be taking advantage. You’re only eighteen-“ 

“Yeah, exactly,” Grantaire interrupted, his fingers digging into Enjolras’s shoulders. Enjolras couldn’t help but imagine if Grantaire would grip his shoulders like that when he fucked him, holding on and writhing beneath him, his eyes wide... “I’m eighteen,” Grantaire continued. “It’s not illegal.”

“But it’s unprofessional,” Enjolras said gently, easing himself out of Grantaire’s hold. “I could lose my job, and you could be expelled.” 

“So? I’ll drop out of school, it’s fine,” Grantaire said, slightly breathless and refusing to let Enjolras push him away. Enjolras could feel his fingers curling at the nape of his neck, which felt so good, and so utterly distracting.

But still, he shook his head. “I won’t let you do that,” Enjolras replied. “The year’s almost half finished already.” 

There was a flicker of recognition in Grantaire’s eyes, and he seemed to understand. “But at the end of the year?” 

“It’s not that far away,” Enjolras told him with a smile, which only widened when he saw Grantaire’s unashamed delight. “Think you can wait until then?”

“Can you?” 

Enjolras glanced towards the door, and then to the clock. There was about five minutes left of the lunch hour, they didn’t have long, and he was probably making an outrageous mistake, but there was something he had to do. “Let me have something to remember you by,” Enjolras said, hoping he wasn’t overstepping a boundary as he placed his palms at the bottom of Grantaire’s back again, pulling him in.

Swallowing hard, Grantaire leaned forwards, brushing his fingers across Enjolras’s throat, lingering over his pulse point. Enjolras assumed he could feel the strong beat beneath the skin; his heart was pounding. 

Tilting his face up to meet Grantaire’s, Enjolras pushed their lips together. And he really hadn’t been prepared for the feeling of Grantaire’s mouth on his, despite his frequent imaginings. Grantaire opened his mouth immediately, allowing Enjolras to sweep his tongue inside and tangle it with his own. It was quick and intense, just as Enjolras should have expected.

As Enjolras pulled away, he nipped at Grantaire’s bottom lip with his teeth, savouring the needy sound it drew from him, a sound that he wanted to remember. The kiss was much too short, but they had taken an enormous risk just in those thirty or so seconds. Still, it had been difficult for Enjolras to pull away, and Grantaire looked just as wrecked as he felt himself. 

“The end of the year, then?” Grantaire said sadly, running his tongue over kiss swollen lips, and Enjolras felt him shiver beneath his hands. 

When Grantaire stepped away at last, Enjolras tried not to pull him back immediately, curling his hands into fists instead. They both straightened their hair and their clothes, attempting to project some semblance of normality to the rest of the world. 

It wasn’t until Grantaire had left, turning briefly in the doorway to give him one final smile, that the realisation of what they had done hit Enjolras. He had kissed one of his students, and promised him that they could see each other in earnest in a few months. And still, in spite of all that, Enjolras couldn’t feel one ounce of regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, that was a LOT longer than I expected it to be  
> oh well! ;)
> 
> Thank you for reading, I will be updating again very soon!  
> xxxxxx


	7. Playing With Fire

Immediately after he left Enjolras’s classroom, Grantaire felt like he was having some kind of seizure. He couldn’t believe his own audacity. On the way to Enjolras’s classroom, he had prepared a careful speech, praying that Enjolras would read between the lines and understand where he was coming from. While he was waiting for his teacher to return, Grantaire had to resist the temptation to flee, taking deep breaths and rehearsing what he planned to say.

 

But then, when Enjolras had walked in, looking agitated and so ridiculously good-looking, Grantaire had thrown caution to the wind, and it had paid off. It had _really_ paid off.

 

When Grantaire eventually ran into Eponine on the way to Classics, she took one look at him and pulled him aside, sitting him down in the nearest available chair.

 

“What have you taken?” Eponine asked, standing over Grantaire with the air of a particularly overbearing nurse.

 

Grantaire gaped at her, his heart still racing. It was so loud in his ears, he wondered if Eponine could hear it. “I haven’t taken anything, ‘Ponine, I swear,” he said earnestly, though considering how he felt right now, it was probably a reasonable assumption.

 

Narrowing her eyes, Eponine crouched down next to him. “Don’t fuck with me, Grantaire. You look high,” she said, still suspicious. “You’ve either taken something or done something-“

 

“Yes,” Grantaire interrupted, grinning. He knew it was only a matter of seconds before Eponine pieced everything together; she was the one who suggested he talk to Enjolras anyway. All things considered, however, she probably thought he’d chickened out at the last minute.

 

“No way,” Eponine hissed.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Grantaire said again, his smile taking on a manic edge. “We only made out a little bit, but it was fucking amazing, ‘Ponine.” Even that felt like an understatement to Grantaire. How could he possibly make Eponine understand how it had felt, stood in the gentle hold of Enjolras’s arms, feeling his warmth and inhaling his intoxicating scent?

 

“Well, I’m happy for you, Grantaire,” Eponine said cautiously, patting his hand. “But how the hell is this going to work?”

 

Grantaire waved a hand nonchalantly, still too excited to think clearly. “Details, details,” he said. “He wants to wait until I’ve left school, but-“

 

Eponine frowned, reaching up a finger to silence him. “No buts, ‘Taire,” she told him. “This is going to get really messy if you’re not careful. When I told you to go talk to him, I didn’t think _that_ was going to happen...”

 

“But it did,” Grantaire said, recalling every single detail of the kiss with studious clarity. “And I love you for making it happen. You are my favourite.” He gave Eponine a quick peck on each cheek in an attempt to appease her, standing up and feeling his head spin as he did so. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” Grantaire added, catching sight of Eponine’s barely concealed worry.

 

Allowing herself to be pulled back to her feet, Eponine linked her arm with Grantaire’s. “Come on. Classics,” she said with a sigh. “We’re already late.”

 

Incredibly, Combeferre didn’t say anything when the two of them sidled into the lesson almost ten minutes late. He merely glanced at Eponine before subjecting Grantaire to a long, appraising stare, then gestured for them to take their seats.

 

Grantaire was a little rattled, realising that he’d seen Combeferre with Enjolras on a few occasions, talking outside the staff room or walking down the corridors together. Perhaps Combeferre was playing the part of Enjolras’s confidante as Eponine was Grantaire’s? The thought of Enjolras revealing his feelings and asking for advice from a trusted friend was quite endearing, since he always seemed so sure of himself. He just hoped that Combeferre could be trusted not to start any trouble.

 

Although Grantaire had reluctantly agreed to wait until the end of the school year, there was no reason he couldn’t remind Enjolras exactly what he was waiting for. Besides, Grantaire hardly considered himself a catch; what if Enjolras forgot about him, decided he wasn’t worth the trouble?

 

So, Grantaire decided to test Enjolras’s composure. He already knew from the past few months that acting out in class wouldn’t elicit the kind of response he wanted, but he had plenty of other ideas to try out. Even something as innocent as nibbling the end of his pen had the power to make Enjolras scowl and momentarily forget what he was saying, two bright spots of colour blooming high on his cheeks. He left notes tucked between the pages of homework assignments, accompanied with suggestive doodles. Almost every lesson, he made an effort to participate in class debates, licking his lips and speaking directly to Enjolras.

 

Courfeyrac figured out the reason behind Grantaire’s renewed enthusiasm for class as quickly as Eponine had. Of course, he had been more supportive than Eponine, coming up with new ways for Grantaire to distract Enjolras in class, suggesting them with a conspiratorial wink. Jehan found out too, acting as the middle ground between Eponine and Courfeyrac. He appreciated the romance of it all, but didn’t overlook the potential difficulties. Between the four of them, the secret was safe, and Grantaire knew for sure that Enjolras wouldn’t tell anyone who didn’t need to know.

 

Every now and again, Grantaire and Enjolras stole a few moments together. In the minutes between classes, Enjolras would push Grantaire against the wall of the deserted classroom, releasing his frustration in hot, angry kisses. Both of them knew that they were playing a dangerous game, that they could be caught at any time. Grantaire had expected Enjolras to be resolute in his self-control, so every kiss came as a surprise, and always left him seeking more.

 

Just as good as the fleeting touches were the conversations they shared. Once or twice a week, Grantaire went to Enjolras’s classroom at lunchtime, on the pretence of asking for clarification on whatever issue had been addressed in class that day. Everyone who knew Grantaire would believe that he needed extra help, not because he was unintelligent, but simply because he was lazy.

 

His Politics notebook lay forgotten in his bag while the two of them sat and talked. Sometimes, they debated, Enjolras getting frustrated with Grantaire’s cynicism, Grantaire with Enjolras’s idealism; other times, they exchanged information as trivial as likes and dislikes. When Enjolras couldn’t put his lesson plans and piles of unmarked papers down, sat at his desk through the lunch break with reading glasses propped on the end of his nose, Grantaire pestered him. He talked aloud to himself, stretching out in his chair like a languid cat, exposing the bare line of his throat and a pale stretch of stomach, until Enjolras was driven to distraction.

 

Enjolras encouraged Grantaire to look into university next year, finding information about financial aid and digging out every art school prospectus he could find from the careers room. Amazingly, Grantaire was not only considering it, but looking forward to it.

 

For once in his life, Grantaire was happy, but as much as it was, it still wasn’t enough for either of them. On the last day of term before the Christmas break, they crammed themselves into the miniscule supply closet in the back of the classroom. There wasn’t enough space to do anything more than rut against each other in the dark, nor enough time, but they managed it out of sheer desperation. Grantaire had panted and keened, rubbing himself against Enjolras like a wild animal. Enjolras had bitten down on Grantaire’s neck when he came, just the right side of painful, leaving a deep purple bruise.

 

Afterwards, they laughed, sharing soft, affectionate kisses while they calmed down. Grantaire teased Enjolras for acting like a teenager, getting off in a cupboard and coming fully clothed.

 

Both of them were dreading the three week Christmas break. It would be insane to try and meet up, a risk Grantaire was willing to take, of course, but Enjolras firmly refused. Besides, Enjolras said he was busy over the holidays, catching up on work, and having to spend time with his parents.

 

Before they said a formal goodbye in the classroom, after they’d smoothed their hair and lost the blush from their cheeks, Grantaire wrote his phone number on a post-it note and slipped it into Enjolras’s pocket with a smile. “For when you miss me,” Grantaire said softly.

 

Grantaire was both affronted and grudgingly impressed when he didn’t hear from Enjolras until Christmas Eve. He’d exiled himself to his bedroom while his mother had some of her obnoxious friends over, when his phone rang. He answered with shaking hands, not recognising the number and trying not to get his hopes up.

 

“Hello?” Grantaire said, excitement making his voice waver. The sound of Enjolras on the other end almost made his heart stop, after going for almost a week without speaking to him. He closed his eyes, letting a dopey, Marius-esque smile creep onto his face as he just listened to the steady rise and fall of Enjolras’s voice.

 

“-my insufferable parents, when I’d much rather be spending time with you, or alone, even,” Enjolras was saying, his voice low. “I can’t talk for long, but I had to talk to you. I miss you so much, Grantaire.”

 

“Do you, now?”  Grantaire asked coyly, lying back on his bed. If they didn’t have much time to talk, then they would have to use it wisely.

 

“Yes,” Enjolras replied. Grantaire could hear the steady huff of his breath through the phone, heavier than usual, and he wondered where Enjolras was right now. Perhaps he’d locked himself in his bedroom as Grantaire had. Yes, Grantaire found he quite liked that idea.

 

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Grantaire said, trying to sound as seductive as he could. The sound of Enjolras’s voice had gone straight to his cock, half-hard already. “I can’t wait to see you again. With a bit of manoeuvring, I think I could kneel down in the supply cupboard, kneel between your legs and suck you off like I wanted to last week.” He paused, wondering if he sounded as awkward as he felt.

 

All week, he’d been thinking of how best to turn the conversation in this direction when Enjolras eventually called, imagining a long, detailed phone call that drove them both mad. Now it came to putting it into practice though, Grantaire didn’t know how Enjolras was going to react. “Can we try that?” Grantaire asked hesitantly, not just meaning the potential covert blowjob, knowing Enjolras would understand.

 

“Yes,” Enjolras answered, and to Grantaire’s relief, he sounded as aroused as Grantaire felt. “Do you know how badly I want to fuck you, Grantaire?”

 

Grantaire let out a soft moan, slipping his jeans down his legs with his free hand, touching himself through the thin material of his underwear. “Enjolras,” he breathed. “Please, tell me.”

 

He heard Enjolras let out a deep breath. “When you give me cheek in class, testing your boundaries with the innuendos that you think are terribly clever and discreet, I just want to throw you down over my desk. I want to tell everyone else to get out and have you... Spread your legs and open you up for me, so I can push in and fuck you until you scream.”

 

Shoving his underwear out of the way, Grantaire gripped his cock, running his spit-slick hand up and down the shaft as Enjolras spoke. “It’d be so good,” Grantaire agreed, biting his lip. “I know you’d be so, so good t-to me, Enjolras.”

 

“I think about it all the time,” Enjolras said, his breath coming quicker now. The realisation that Enjolras was touching himself too, finding his pleasure while he spoke, made Grantaire’s hand move a little faster. “Except I want to take you home with me, so we don’t have to rush. I could kiss you for hours-“

 

“We could _fuck_ for hours,” Grantaire corrected. He knew it wasn’t going to take long for him to finish, not with Enjolras’s angelic voice talking dirty in his ear. By that point, though, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. All that mattered in that moment was getting himself off while Enjolras did the same. “I don’t want to have to wait, Enjolras-”

 

“G-god, you know I don’t want to either.”

 

“-but I will,” Grantaire mumbled, rubbing a thumb around the head of his cock, making his breathing hitch. “You’re not going to give up on me though, are you? I’ll be worth the wait, Enjolras, I swear... I really want you t-to-”

 

“Grantaire...”

 

“Enjolras, I-“ Grantaire gasped, bucking up into his hand and coming in a long stripe across his stomach where his shirt had ridden up. He writhed through the aftershocks, listening to the muffled sound of Enjolras panting over the phone, moaning Grantaire’s name.

 

After a few long moments, in which both he and Enjolras were more or less silent, Grantaire opened his eyes. He wiped himself off with the edge of his shirt, hitching his jeans back up over his hips. “Enjolras?” Grantaire asked, glancing at the screen of his phone to check that the line hadn’t dropped. He smiled as he saw the time.

 

“Yes?” Enjolras’s voice hadn’t returned to normal yet; it was still unsteady and rough-edged.

 

“Merry Christmas,” Grantaire said.

 

“Merry Christmas, Grantaire,” Enjolras replied, his voice was back to normal now. “How’s everything with you?”

 

“Can’t complain, I guess. Going to Eponine’s tomorrow. What about you?”

 

“My parents keep calling me a Bolshevik,” Enjolras said flatly.

 

Grantaire laughed. “God, I really miss you.”

 

“I miss you too, Grantaire,” Enjolras replied. There were voices in the background, and Enjolras sighed.  Grantaire could see him in his mind’s eye, running his fingers through his hair, ruining the gel and making it stick up at the back, as he always did. “I have to go, I’m sorry. I’ll try and speak to you again soon.”

 

“Don’t leave it so long next time, alright?” Grantaire told him, fiddling with a hole in his bedspread.  “I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

 

“Never,” Enjolras promised. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Have fun with Eponine, okay? Goodbye, Grantaire.”

 

Grantaire waited for the line to go dead before he tossed his phone onto the bedside table, where it landed with a clatter. He turned his face into his pillow and wondered why everything had to be so unfair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that kinda ran away with me, there.  
> Hopefully it wasn't too awkward to read??


	8. Courfeyrac Intervenes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, just a quick note to say that I edited the ending of the previous chapter. It's only slightly different, but thought I'd let you all know.   
> Also, I might not be able to update again until Monday; my roommate and I are having friends over for the weekend, so I'll have to like, socialize and stuff, instead of sitting in my room and writing gay porn. If I get a chance to write though, I will, but I won't make any promises! 
> 
> I BRING YOU SEX.

As soon as school began again after Christmas, Grantaire had his hands full. He’d almost completely forgotten about January exams, and found himself cramming a month’s worth of Politics and Classics revision into about a week. Luckily, he didn’t have an art exam until May, but his coursework was piling up after a particularly unproductive Christmas break.

 

Rather than spending Christmas with his mother at her awful boyfriend’s house, Grantaire wandered down the road to Eponine’s. The two of them bundled themselves up in scarves and coats and spent Christmas day getting drunk in the local park, sharing a bottle of vodka between them. They passed the next few days in the same fashion, swiping bottles from the Thenardier’s dubious alcohol supply and trying to keep Gavroche out of trouble.

 

On the first of January, they made a valiant, but inevitably futile, effort to ‘turn over a new leaf’ and took their Classics books to the park with them. Within about ten minutes, they were tipsily reciting Catallus 16 to each other, dissolving into drunken fits of the giggles.

 

Eponine managed to ace the exam, though, thanks to several hastily arranged study sessions with Cosette in the school cafe. Grantaire suspected that he managed to scrape by with a pass at least, albeit a fairly poor one.

 

Being in a clandestine relationship with his Government & Politics teacher certainly had a positive effect on his grades; Grantaire passed the Politics exam with flying colours. Enjolras was aghast when he found out that Grantaire hadn’t worked at all over Christmas, and spent consecutive lunch breaks overseeing his revision, rewarding him with kisses.

 

The next few months were a stressful blur of last-minute university applications, exhausting conversations over the phone with student grant companies, accompanied by an ever increasing mountain of homework. Grantaire tried not to feel jealous when he wandered to Enjolras’s classroom and found another student there, legitimately asking for help with exam revision, which happened more frequently as the year progressed.

 

However, the promise of Enjolras waiting for him at the end of the year sustained Grantaire like a lifeline, preventing him from giving up and falling behind with schoolwork.

 

Eponine was gradually losing patience with the lot of them. She had long since made her peace with Marius and Cosette, but they were still sickeningly into their public displays of affection. Jehan and Courfeyrac were almost as bad; Jehan murmuring lines of poetry while Courfeyrac kissed each of his freckles. Grantaire made a sly suggestion that she give things a try with Bahorel, to which she replied with a withering look and a clip round the ear.

 

Grantaire and Enjolras called each other as often as possible, but between everything that was going on for both of them, it wasn’t as often as they liked. Still, it was just a few months left to wait, and Grantaire tried not to slowly descend into insanity while final exams approached.

 

By the end of March, Grantaire had surprised everyone, himself included, with how hard he was working. He was sat poring over Greek translation exercises in the school library when his phone buzzed with a text.

 

_Come to the Musain asap!!!!!!_

_\- Courf_

 

Frowning, Grantaire glanced at the pile of unfinished work spread out across the table in front of him before texting back. The Musain was their favourite place to hang out outside of school, a busy little coffee shop in the centre of town that sold the best drinks for miles around. Still, he’d been working since he finished for the day, through a free period and a further hour after that. He thought he probably deserved a break by now.

 

_Ok, be there soon_

_\- R_

Grantaire tossed everything back into his bag and made his way into town, walking into the Musain about ten minutes later. He walked inside and went to order a latte at the counter, scanning the room for Courfeyrac. Instead, he caught sight of a familiar head of blonde hair and almost dropped his coffee mug.

 

Cautiously, Grantaire edged across the room and dropped into the seat opposite Enjolras, who looked up in disbelief, eyes wide behind his reading glasses.

 

“Hello,” Grantaire said, taking a sip of coffee and trying to find somewhere to set it down. Enjolras had the entire table taken up with his laptop and a large stack of unmarked essays. “Courfeyrac’s not here, is he?”

 

Enjolras raised his eyebrows, shaking his head slowly. “He just left, actually. Why?”

 

Grantaire’s phone beeped again, and he checked it with a grim smile on his face.

 

_Have fun ;) ;) ;)_

_\- C xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

 

There was a soft tap on the window behind, and Grantaire whipped around. Courfeyrac was stood just the other side of the glass, a shit-eating grin on his face. He put his thumbs up before he waved goodbye and crossed the street.

 

“Well I guess that answers my question,” Grantaire muttered, though he was internally thanking every God he didn’t believe in for gracing him with Courfeyrac as a friend. “Do you mind if I join you?”

 

Glancing around briefly, Enjolras began to rearrange his things, sliding his laptop back into its case and clearing some room for Grantaire. “I want to get these marked by-“ Enjolras paused to consult his watch. “Six o’clock, so I won’t be much company, I’m afraid.”

 

Grateful that Enjolras wasn’t insisting he sit somewhere else and let him work in peace, Grantaire beamed at him. He pulled his sketchbook from his bag and settled down to work on his project. Feuilly had been impressed with his first assignment last year, the study of Greek and Roman art that he’d innocently claimed to be interested in because of studying Classics. This term, Grantaire had turned his attentions to neoclassical art, Gros and the like, but when he set his pencil to paper, the sight of Enjolras sat directly in front of him was too much of a temptation to resist.

 

When they’d been sat in companionable silence for about an hour, and the cafe was getting ready to close, Enjolras set aside the final marked essay and let out an enormous sigh of relief.

 

“Finished?” Grantaire asked, not looking up from his sketch. He’d drawn Enjolras in the various different poses he’d been sat in for the past hour: deep in concentration as he read, the slight quirk of his lips every now and again when he gave a good grade, the frown when he had to give a poor one.

 

“Finally, yes,” Enjolras said, slotting the papers into a neatly organised folder. He removed his glasses, tucking them into his pocket, and looked over at Grantaire’s work. “Is that me?”

 

“It is,” Grantaire agreed, signing the bottom corner of the page with a flourish. “Not for my coursework, don’t worry.”

 

Enjolras laughed, finishing the last of his coffee, probably cold by now. “Come on then, let me give you a lift home.”

 

Grantaire followed Enjolras to where he’d parked his car a few streets away, wishing he could reach out and take his hand as they walked. He grasped the edges of his sketchbook instead, his grip hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

 

From the centre of town, it didn’t take long to get to Grantaire’s house, and Grantaire said a reluctant goodbye to Enjolras before he hopped out of the car. Digging through his pockets for his key as he walked up to the front door, Grantaire frowned when he found them empty. With a sinking feeling, he remembered leaving his keys in the back pocket of the jeans he’d worn yesterday evening. He stopped, checking and double checking every pocket, before he jogged back to Enjolras’s car.

 

“You’re not going to believe this,” Grantaire said sheepishly, as soon as Enjolras wound the window down. “But I don’t have my keys.”

 

“Are you sure?” Enjolras asked.

 

“Yeah,” Grantaire admitted, shuffling his feet. “And my mum works Friday nights.”

 

“Is Eponine home?”

 

Grantaire took out his phone and called Eponine, chewing his bottom lip. “No,” he said, after hanging up.

 

“Get in, then,” Enjolras said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not leaving you in the street, you can come home with me for a couple of hours.”

 

Hardly daring believe his luck, Grantaire jumped back in the car and tried to hide his grin. As he had expected, Enjolras lived on the other side of town, where the houses were bigger and the cars in the driveways more expensive. He pulled up in front of a large, modern apartment building and Grantaire let out a low, appreciative whistle.

 

Enjolras lived on the top floor, and since the elevator was broken, he challenged Grantaire to a race up the stairs, which he won by a mile. Eventually, he wandered back down to retrieve Grantaire from where he had collapsed breathlessly on the floor below, complaining about his ‘smoker’s lungs’.

 

When they finally reached Enjolras’s flat, after he’d left his shoes and bag by the door at Enjolras’s insistence, Grantaire fell onto the sofa and gazed around approvingly. It was spacious but modestly furnished, meticulously clean, with dozens of books lined up on shelves along the walls, but no television. “Nice pile of bricks you’ve got here,” Grantaire said, wriggling out of his jacket, still breathless from running up the stairs. He hoped Enjolras would pick up on the reference, but the guy didn’t even own a TV, so it was unlikely that he’d be familiar with cult 90s teen movies.

 

“Thanks,” Enjolras replied, from where he was hanging up his coat and bag in the hallway.

 

Grantaire leant forward and picked up a photo frame from the coffee table, smiling as he examined the photograph within. It was of a much younger Enjolras, his hair a glorious cloud of golden curls, smiling at the camera, with a friendly arm around another boy.

 

“Who’s this?” Grantaire asked, feeling an irrational stab of jealousy.

 

Enjolras laughed. “Don’t you recognise him?”

 

Squinting at the picture, Grantaire gasped in shock as he realised who it was. “No _way_ is that Combeferre! Look at his _hair_ -”

 

“It is,” Enjolras confirmed, as he hovered in the doorway. “Do you want anything?”

 

“You?” Grantaire said hopefully, replacing the frame on the coffee table.

 

Although he rolled his eyes, Enjolras came across the room to sit down beside Grantaire.

 

“I got an offer from UAL, you know,” Grantaire said after a moment. “Well, they want me to go for an interview. It’s not a proper offer yet, but it’s still more than I was expecting, anyway.”

 

“That’s amazing, Grantaire!” Enjolras said, pulling him into a hug. “I knew you could do it.”

 

Grantaire’s breath caught in his throat, and he pressed his face into the crook of Enjolras’s neck, inhaling the smell of clean soap and aftershave. “London’s a long way away, though,” he muttered, brushing his lips against Enjolras’s collarbone, and he felt Enjolras stiffen.

 

Enjolras wound the fingers of one hand into Grantaire’s hair, tilting his head up to face him. “It’s not that far. We’ll make it work,” he said confidently, tightening his grip and giving Grantaire a firm kiss.

 

Letting out a breath he’d forgotten he was holding, Grantaire wound his arms around Enjolras’s neck, licking into his mouth and sucking at his bottom lip. They exchanged slow, languid kisses for a long while, luxuriating in the knowledge that for once they didn’t have to rush, there was no chance of being caught out.

 

Grantaire moved slightly, climbing onto Enjolras’s lap, knees either side of Enjolras’s legs. Enjolras let out an appreciative hum, hands making quick work of removing Grantaire’s tie and unbuttoning his shirt. When they had been tossed aside, and Enjolras’s fingers were tracing aimless patterns on Grantaire’s bare back, Grantaire felt giddy. Every touch on his skin felt like a static shock.

 

He set to taking Enjolras’s tie and shirt off too, feeling his breath coming in quick gasps, openly admiring the sight of Enjolras as he was bared before him. He dropped his mouth to the base of Enjolras’s throat, peppering the skin with kisses, running reverent hands over his chest. Grantaire’s trousers felt tight, and as he ground his hips downwards, he felt Enjolras buck up to meet him.

 

“Are we going to-“

 

“Do you want-“

 

They both laughed, swiftly breaking the tension. Grantaire pulled back, meeting Enjolras’s even stare with his own. The desire he felt was reflected back at him; Enjolras’s eyes were dark with want, and Grantaire was too caught up in the moment to think of anything other than _Enjolras_.

 

He let out an undignified whimper when Enjolras shifted his grip and stood up, supporting Grantaire with strong hands beneath him. Clinging to Enjolras, he let himself be carried towards the bedroom, kissing at his throat again.

 

Enjolras laid him on the bed with unexpected gentleness; Grantaire hadn’t forgotten how Enjolras had told him the way he’d wanted to take him, hard and rough and unapologetic. He was completely still as Enjolras divested them both of their trousers and underwear, raising his eyes to look back at Enjolras when they were both finally naked.

 

“God, you’re beautiful,” Grantaire breathed, taking hold of Enjolras’s hand and pulling him down for another kiss. He ghosted a palm over Enjolras’s cock, feeling the soft skin beneath his fingertips, spreading the drip of pre-come around the head.

 

With a soft moan, Enjolras moved away, rummaging around in the drawer of the bedside table before repositioning Grantaire on his hands and knees. A long line was licked up his spine, making him shiver, and Grantaire felt a slicked finger ease into him.

 

“Enjolras...” Grantaire whispered, his arms wobbling already. He took deep breaths as Enjolras began to work him open, leaning over him and kissing Grantaire’s shoulders. When a second finger was added, beginning to twist and rub inside him, Grantaire started to cant his hips. At the third finger, he slid forward, supporting himself on folded forearms, face pressed into the mattress. The new angle made him mewl in earnest, and he turned his head around to look up at Enjolras with heavy-lidded eyes.

 

“I’m ready, Enjolras, please,” Grantaire said, pushing back on his swiftly removed fingers.

 

Hearing the crackle of a condom packet, Grantaire twisted up as best he could, trying to watch Enjolras enter him. His eyes closed as soon as Enjolras slid inside, his mouth falling open.

 

Grantaire felt soothing hands petting his back and hips as he grew accustomed to the stretch, and rocked back as soon as he was ready, opening his eyes again. “ _Move_ ,” he pleaded.

 

When Enjolras began to thrust, slowly at first, he reached down, holding Grantaire’s cock with a slicked hand. As he began to move faster, his adjusted his grip, matching the strokes to each snap of his hips. Sweat began to drip down Grantaire’s back and chest, and he hummed in pleasure with each exhale.

 

Every now and again, Enjolras’s thrusts brushed at Grantaire’s prostate, making him see stars. The combination of Enjolras moving inside him and his hand at his cock rapidly brought Grantaire closer to the edge, and he let himself go limp. “I’m- I’m almost...” Grantaire said breathlessly. “I’m going to...”

 

Enjolras tightened his grip on Grantaire’s cock, pumping faster as he mouthed at his shoulder blades, and Grantaire came with a bitten-off shout. Pleasure rushed through him, and he was only dimly aware of Enjolras pulling out and flipping him over onto his back.

 

With Grantaire lying beneath him, legs splayed, Enjolras pushed back in and finished after a dozen more strokes. Grantaire watched his features tense and go slack as he found his release, a quiet ‘ _Grantaire_ ’ torn from his throat. He dropped onto Grantaire’s chest, his mussed blonde hair tickling his cheek.

 

They lay in silence for a time, Grantaire carding gentle fingers through Enjolras’s hair, smoothing it back down. “So, that happened,” he said conversationally, scratching at the nape of Enjolras’s neck with blunt fingernails.

 

Enjolras hummed, reaching blindly for Grantaire’s free hand and entwining their fingers.

 

“You don’t regret it, do you?” Grantaire asked, his voice hesitant and still fairly hoarse.

 

“No,” Enjolras replied, and Grantaire felt somewhat reassured. “But I think we need to keep quiet about it. Don’t tell Courfeyrac, or Eponine-“

 

“I won’t,” Grantaire said quickly.

 

Hesitating, Enjolras pushed himself up on his forearms to look at Grantaire. He looked blissfully relaxed, though he sounded quite alert. “I’m serious, Grantaire,” he added.

 

“I _know_.” Grantaire tried not to protest when Enjolras rolled over and stood up, suppressing his murmur of complaint into a feeble whine. He watched Enjolras dispose of the condom and wipe himself off with a tissue, watching the movement of muscles beneath his skin, looking at the smooth curve of his ass. Enjolras returned with a fresh tissue to clean off Grantaire, and ruffled a hand through his hair when he was done.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update this. I'd like to try and get this finished in the next couple of days, so the next chapter will be posted really soon! Maybe later today? We just don't know

Grantaire tried to keep the secret, he really did. For what it was worth, he didn’t explicitly tell anyone – but his friends weren’t stupid, and you’d have to be stupid not to notice the change in him. When he waltzed into the school cafe the next week, and flopped into an empty seat at their usual table, Courfeyrac took one look at his blissful smile and narrowed his eyes.

 

“Looks like _someone_ got laid,” Courfeyrac remarked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively at Grantaire.

 

Hastily assuming his most innocent expression, Grantaire cleared his throat and glanced around the table. Bahorel’s expression matched Courfeyrac’s, but Eponine looked guarded, the terrifyingly calm poker-face that Grantaire knew all too well. Jehan had stopped doodling on a napkin to look up in something which might have been either surprise or apprehension; and even Marius and Cosette managed to tear their eyes away from each other long enough to turn their heads in eerie unison to gaze quizzically in Grantaire’s direction.

 

Grantaire felt a lot like a fox among bloodthirsty hounds, feeling the happiness that had stayed with him all weekend rapidly beginning to turn sour. It was one of the rare occasions in which the whole group was together, and he wondered what the hell he’d done to deserve this.

 

“No,” Grantaire finally said, after an awkwardly long pause that betrayed his words. “I wish,” he added with a little huff of false laughter.

 

That seemed more than enough to convince Marius, who shrugged and turned back to Cosette, who batted him away impatiently, still watching Grantaire. By then, the fact that Grantaire was hopelessly in love with his Politics teacher was old news. Of course, they didn’t all know the extent to which matters with Enjolras had progressed (Cosette was Deputy Principal Valjean’s daughter, after all, and although Marius was book-smart, he was horrendously dippy and couldn’t keep a secret to save his life) but a few too many drunken, overly-detailed odes to Enjolras’s perfect form were enough for them to become suspicious.

 

“Oh, please, Grantaire,” Courfeyrac said sceptically. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to, here. So who was it?”

 

Confused for a moment, Grantaire frowned. Courfeyrac knew very well that sleeping with anyone else was completely off the table for Grantaire for the foreseeable future, but... “No one, really, Courf,” Grantaire said lightly, glaring at Courfeyrac.

 

Courfeyrac seemed to understand within milliseconds, a shadow of horror flickering across his face before his grin was back in place. Similar looks of comprehension seemed to dawn on Jehan and Eponine, who to their credit, hid it much more efficiently than Courfeyrac.

 

So much for keeping it quiet, Grantaire thought, clenching his fists under the table and standing up abruptly. “You know what, I think it’s time for class. Coming, Courf?”

 

“It’s like 8:50,” Bahorel said suspiciously.

 

“Right,” Courfeyrac said, sparing Grantaire from trying to come up with some vague excuse. He’d rather uncharacteristically let the opportunity for innuendo slide too; Grantaire bit the inside of his cheek and gave a silent nod of thanks for that too. Rising from his seat after giving Jehan a quick peck on the cheek, Courfeyrac gave a long-suffering sigh of remembrance. “Yeah, Enjolras told us to get there early for a revision session or something like that.” He rolled his eyes, and although it wasn’t a particularly believable excuse, his performance was enough to convince. If he didn’t get top marks in his drama exam, there was something seriously wrong with the world, Grantaire thought grudgingly.

 

“Shit, R, I’m really sorry,” Courfeyrac said as soon as they were out of earshot. “I assumed you’d just picked up some random to take your Enjolras-related sexual frustration out on, I didn’t think-“

 

“Yeah, that much was obvious, Courf, Jesus,” Grantaire said shakily, raking a hand through his hair. They wandered in the vague direction of the Politics department, because of course that was their first lesson today, as if trying to act natural around Enjolras wouldn’t have been difficult enough without adding this to it. They stopped in the quad, which was busy and loud enough to reduce the risk of being overheard as far as possible. “I was supposed to be keeping this quiet... He’s going to hate me if anyone else finds out. Fuck, I’m going to hate myself if-“

 

“No one else is going to find out,” Courfeyrac said, adopting as soothing a tone as he could. “You can trust us, Grantaire.”

 

“I know,” Grantaire replied, biting his lip. “I just don’t want to fuck this up.” Even more than he had already, he added silently.

 

“Look, there’s what – three weeks left until study leave? Then you’ll have left college and it’ll be plain sailing from there on out,” Courfeyrac said optimistically, his smile creeping back onto his lips. “You can take your exams and it’ll be happy days.”

 

Still worried, but feeling a little better for Courfeyrac’s well-meaning attempts to cheer him up, Grantaire gave a non-committal hum in response.

 

They were quiet for a second. “Well, how was it then?” Courfeyrac asked, nudging Grantaire with his elbow. “You may as well share the details now.”

 

Despite everything, Grantaire felt himself smiling. “It was _magnificent_ ,” he said blissfully. “I mean, I should have expected that, but holy shit... I’m never going to be able to fuck anyone else for the rest of my life, not after that. Best sex ever, let me tell you...“

 

“But that’s only because you haven’t had the pleasure of sleeping with me,” Courfeyrac said with a wink.

 

The tight knot of tension in his chest relieved a little, Grantaire shoved Courfeyrac away with a playful laugh. “Keep dreaming, sunshine.”

 

Class passed quickly. Grantaire slumped down on the desk, resting his chin atop his folded arms, watching Enjolras from beneath the fall of his hair. He looked better than Grantaire had ever seen him, better than anyone had any right to look, and Grantaire smiled to himself as he realised why. He was reminded of why he felt so strongly towards Enjolras. It wasn’t just the gleaming sweep of blonde hair and the flawless silhouette and overall perfection, although that had been what had attracted Grantaire at first.

 

It was the proud way he held himself when he spoke, the passion that lit up his eyes and seeped into his speech, making the dullest topic seem riveting, making a room full of bored teenagers hang onto his every word. He seemed as if he should be stood on a podium at speaker’s corner, or debating in the House of Commons, or stood at the front of a revolution.

 

The fact that Grantaire had somehow attracted and held those passions for himself was something he was still trying to wrap his head around. He spent the last half of class reconciling the Enjolras stood at the front of the class with his most recent memories of him. Enjolras as he had been in his post-orgasmic haze, with his eyes closed and his hair mussed, smiling as Grantaire traced a thumb across his laugh lines.

 

“See you later, R,” Courfeyrac said when class finished, dashing off to find Marius and pry him away from Cosette long enough for them to go to French class.

 

Grantaire collected his things together as slowly as possible, waiting for the rest of the students to file from the room before making his way over to Enjolras.

 

“Hello,” Grantaire said, openly admiring Enjolras’s ass as he bent to take something from the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet beside his desk.

 

“Hello,” Enjolras replied as he straightened up, glancing briefly towards the door before pressing a fleeting kiss to Grantaire’s lips. He hesitated, placing a stack of papers on the edge of his desk. “Did you tell Courfeyrac?”

 

“No.”

 

“Grantaire...”

 

“I didn’t _tell_ him,” Grantaire said earnestly. “I promised, didn’t I? He just guessed, that’s all.”

 

Sighing, Enjolras gave a small smile. “Go on, get to class. Art,” he added, noticing Grantaire’s momentary confusion. “You’re welcome.”

 

“Do you know all of your student’s timetables, or just the ones you’re sleeping with?”

 

“Just the one,” Enjolras corrected with a soft laugh. “I’ll call you later.”

 

Tugging on Enjolras’s tie, Grantaire brought him down for another quick kiss. “I’ll look forward to it,” he said, and paused for a moment, debating whether or not he should say exactly what he wanted to, before finally deciding to throw caution to the wind. “I love you.” He turned away to leave, taking a couple of steps towards the door, before he felt Enjolras catch hold of his hand.

 

“Grantaire?” Enjolras said, until he met his eyes. “I love you too.”

 

Grantaire practically skipped to art class, meeting Jehan en-route and whispering affirmations to his hushed questions. They chatted idly while they painted, making final amendments to their coursework portfolios before the studio exam next week. For once, Grantaire hadn’t left everything to the last minute, with the promise of the UAL interview and all it entailed rapidly approaching.

 

He barely spared a glance away from his work for the knock on the door and the woman who entered, but Jehan’s insistent tugging on his arm made him look up properly. “What?” he asked, setting his brushes down and wiping a smudge of red paint from the edge of his page.

 

Jehan pointed at the woman, who upon further inspection, Grantaire recognised to be Principal Javert’s secretary. She was having a whispered conversation with Feuilly where he stood rearranging the bookshelf, the contents of which had been left strewn around the room after the previous class, a hoard of irritating first years that had left Feuilly swearing under his breath, in what Grantaire suspected to be Polish.

 

When Feuilly frowned and glanced over in his direction, Grantaire felt his blood run cold, then seem to stop flowing altogether when he was beckoned over.

 

“Grantaire, Principal Javert would like to see you in his office.”


	10. Chapter 10

Grantaire’s palms were sweating uncontrollably as he walked to Javert’s office, something he’d be embarrassed and a little grossed-out about if he wasn’t having some kind of mental breakdown. His heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs and his mouth was uncomfortably dry and if he could just get through the next hour then he was going to need an extremely strong drink or ten.

Javert’s secretary escorted him all the way to the office, dashing any half-formed plans of making a quick getaway. Every now and again she stopped in her brisk walk to glance over her shoulder, checking Grantaire was still in tow, the forbidding expression on her face enough to scare him into submission. With everyone else still in their lessons or elsewhere on a free period, the corridors were deserted and silent, but for the steady clack of the secretary’s heels on floorboards.

Grantaire desperately wanted to run away and bury his head in the sand, hoping this was all a bad dream. He racked his brains for anything else he had done that might warrant a trip to the Principal’s office, but came up with nothing. Instead, he tried to think of how on earth Javert had found out. He knew his friends wouldn’t have said anything, and he and Enjolras had been so _careful_ -

And then he was stood in the foyer outside Javert’s office, staring at the stamped letters of ‘PRINCIPAL’ on the nameplate. The secretary knocked once and ushered Grantaire inside, closing the door behind him and leaving him to enter the lion’s den alone.

“Ah, Grantaire, isn’t it?” Valjean said as he entered, gesturing for Grantaire to take a seat.

Realising that _shit_ _this must be really serious if the Deputy Principal’s here too_ , Grantaire nodded and sat down in the offered chair, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. He glanced at where Valjean was stood by the window, watching Grantaire with a kind, sad smile, then at stony-faced Javert, sat on the other side of his desk, and then quickly dropped his gaze to stare at his own hands, twisting in his lap.

Valjean moved forward, holding out his hand. Grantaire took it and gave it a brief shake, remembering belatedly that it must be slick with sweat. Thankfully, Valjean didn’t wince, and his smile didn’t waver. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Cosette,” he said. “And from your art teacher, you’re quite the talented artist, or so I hear.”

Since his throat still felt like sandpaper, and much too tight for actual human speech, Grantaire made a vague strangled-sounding noise in reply. As much as he appreciated Valjean’s attempts to put him at ease, he just wanted to get this over and done with as quickly as possible. Besides, while he and his friends had always openly baited and mocked Javert, Grantaire had always been a little wary of Valjean. He was always outwardly gentle and well-mannered to be sure, but he wasn’t someone Grantaire would want to get on the wrong side of. But if the two men were playing out a good cop bad cop dynamic, he was glad Valjean was there.

“It’s just unfortunate that we meet in these circumstances,” Valjean continued.

“Yes,” Javert said at last, his tone dripping with dislike, managing to put enough threat into that single word to make Grantaire seriously consider jumping out of the nearest window. “It has come to my attention that the relationship between yourself and your Government and Politics teacher, Enjolras, is not, strictly speaking, as it should be.”

When Grantaire didn’t say anything, Valjean glanced from him to the Principal and back again. “You’re not in any trouble, Grantaire,” he said, and Javert broke his unwavering stare of death at Grantaire to glance disapprovingly at Valjean. “What Principal Javert means is to ask is: has Enjolras has acted inappropriately towards you, or in a way that has made you uncomfortable?”

“What? No!” Grantaire choked, answering a little too quickly. Well it was the truth, anyway, Grantaire thought. Maybe it was ‘inappropriate’ for a teacher to get involved with a student, but he hadn’t taken advantage of him, as Valjean was implying. They were making it sound as if Enjolras was some lecherous old bloke perving on his students, not the man that Grantaire was madly in love with.

“It’s alright,” Valjean said. “You can tell us the truth, Grantaire, there’s no need to be afraid.”

Of course there was need to be afraid, Grantaire thought derisively. He could get Enjolras fired from a job he loved, a job he was overwhelmingly good at, and get himself expelled to boot. Moreover, he could lose Enjolras forever, and that was worse than anything else. How was he supposed to go back after that? Perhaps he was being melodramatic, but having this thing with Enjolras, whatever it was, and then having it taken away before they had even had a proper chance to try would be unbearable.

“I am telling the truth,” Grantaire insisted.

“I don’t believe you,” Javert said.

Grantaire gaped at him, catching sight of Valjean’s pained expression from the corner of his eye. If this was happening to anyone else, if it were a scene from a terrible teen soap opera, he’d find the whole thing hilarious, these two men trying to use euphemisms to ask if he was fucking his teacher. As it was, Grantaire was fighting the urge to start laughing hysterically, out of sheer anxiety. “I _am_ telling the truth,” he repeated. “Enjolras has never acted inappropriately or made me uncomfortable.”

“Has he ever made sexual advances towards you, or implied intentions as such?” Valjean asked, managing to keep a straight face.

Aghast, Grantaire felt his cheeks reddening. He felt like he was in a police interrogation, and hoped he was a convincing enough liar to get himself and Enjolras out of this unscathed. But from the sound of it, they didn’t have any concrete proof of his relationship with Enjolras, however much they suspected, hence the questions. He assumed that both Javert and Valjean were expecting him to slip up, and throw Enjolras under the bus to try and save himself.

“No,” Grantaire said, more confidently this time. The initial shock was beginning to work itself into an unyielding resolve. He’d observed Enjolras’s steadfast composure enough to attempt to imitate it.

“Is that so?” Javert asked.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Has he asked you to lie for him?”

“ _No._ ”

“Javert, we can hardly keep the boy here any longer,” Valjean reasoned. “Grantaire has answered our questions-“

There was a brisk knock on the door, and as Valjean paused to go and see to whoever it was, Grantaire prayed it was over, that they’d let him go and believe him...

“Valjean.”

At the sound of the familiar voice, Grantaire’s whole body tensed, his heart, which until then had been thudding at an unforgiving pace, felt like it had stopped altogether. He whipped his head around, finding a slightly breathless Enjolras looking at him. Well, if Enjolras bursting into the Principal’s office uninvited wasn’t enough of a giveaway, he didn’t know what was.

“Ah, Enjolras,” Javert said. “How convenient. Perhaps you’d better take a seat.”

Enjolras sat down beside Grantaire, close enough to touch. (His hands lay palms-up in his lap, making Grantaire want to reach across and hold his hand and say ‘ _yes, I love him’._ )

“Grantaire has just been telling us that there is nothing out of the ordinary between the two of you,” Javert began, meeting Enjolras’s even stare with his own. If he thought he was going to be able to intimidate Enjolras that way, he really didn’t know him at all. “He insists that your relationship does not extend further than that of a teacher and student, but your sudden appearance seems to indicate the contrary, don’t you think?”

“So it would appear,” Enjolras said neutrally.

“Do you have anything to say?”

“Regardless of whatever it is that you are accusing me of, Grantaire is entirely innocent in this,” Enjolras said simply.

Grantaire tasted blood in his mouth, he was biting the inside of his lip so hard. He really hoped Enjolras knew what he was doing, and that he wouldn’t own up to something he hadn’t done in order to protect Grantaire.

“So you do admit to acting out of turn? You admit to your misconduct?”

“No,” Grantaire said, for what felt like the hundredth time in the past fifteen minutes, before Enjolras could speak. “Enjolras hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Grantaire...” Enjolras said, and Grantaire tried not to falter and react to that.

“What do you mean by that, Grantaire?” Valjean asked.

“I just mean that-“ Grantaire hesitated, wondering if he was going to drop them both in the shit, or somehow get them both out of it. He wasn’t going to outright lie; he was just going to miss out some personal details that the Principal and Deputy didn’t need to know. Hopefully if he included enough truth, the gaps in the story wouldn’t be so glaring. “Since the start of term, I’ve... erm, _admired_ Enjolras. And I wasn’t exactly been subtle about it. One day I was walking home in the rain, and Enjolras gave me a lift home, which you’ve got to admit, was the decent thing to do. Any respectable person would save a kid from getting soaked and ill, right? So then, I got the wrong idea about it, and Enjolras let me down gently, and that was it.”

Pausing for breath, Grantaire risked a quick glance at Enjolras, and took his blank expression for a good sign. “But I didn’t back off, so really, it was me acting badly. I guess I just figured, I’m eighteen, it’s completely legal, right? So I- I asked if maybe he’d think about giving me a chance when I’m finished here. So you can’t do anything to him, can you? You can’t punish him because I’m an irresponsible teenager, he’s an amazing teacher, anyone will tell you that.”

There was silence for a long moment; apparently no one knew what to say. At any other time, Grantaire might laugh at the fact that he’d left Enjolras speechless, but now, he hardly dared breathe, and simply sat listening to the slow ticking of the clock.

“Thank you, Grantaire, for your honesty,” Valjean said at last. “This is an unusual situation, and while both yourself and Enjolras have acted within the law, the decision on how to resolve this rests with myself and Principal Javert.”

Although he looked like he wanted to contest that, Javert gave a brief, curt nod. He still looked as though he knew Grantaire wasn’t telling them everything. “Very well. Enjolras, I request that you take one month’s voluntary suspension, on full salary.”

“But he hasn’t done anything!” Grantaire said, outraged.

“Grantaire, it’s alright,” Enjolras said quietly, before looking back up at Javert and inclined his head slightly. “As long as I can choose my temporary replacement, I accept.”

“Grantaire,” Javert said, narrowing his eyes in his direction. Grantaire distantly regretted the past couple of years worth of antagonism towards the Principal, and prepared himself for the worst. “I have no choice but to expel you from this establishment, effective immediately.”

Numb, and completely in shock, Grantaire didn’t know what to say. All he could think was _at least Enjolras is safe_.

“This is outrageous,” Enjolras exclaimed. “How can you possibly expel him for having a- a crush on a teacher? There are _three weeks_ left of term, Javert; Grantaire needs to take his exams. This is an entirely unfair and unprofessional decision.”

“It is too harsh, Javert,” Valjean agreed. “The boy’s behaviour does not warrant expulsion.”

Javert appeared to deliberate for a while. “Fine. But I’ll be keeping a close eye on you. If I hear that you are guilty of any further misconduct, your original punishment will be reinstated.”

Although Enjolras looked as if he wanted to challenge that, Grantaire let out the breath he’d been holding. “Thank you,” he said simply. With a final smile, Valjean dismissed him, and Grantaire hurried out of the office, leaving Enjolras to work out the details of his leave of absence.

All things considered, they had got off very lightly. He was seething about Enjolras’s undeserved suspension, of course, but he was just thankful he hadn’t been dismissed altogether. Still in a daze, he made his way to find his friends in the cafe.

When he arrived, Jehan, Eponine and Courfeyrac were huddled around a table, identical expressions of worry on their faces. Jehan had packed up his art things for him after class, and brought them with him; Grantaire sat beside him and took a sip of his drink. Slowly, he told them everything, and they were all visibly relieved when he reached the end of his story.

“But what about you and Enjolras now?” Eponine asked, holding Grantaire’s hand.

It was exactly what Grantaire had been trying not to think about. He let out a weary sigh, and dropped his head onto the table. “I don’t know,” he groaned softly, closing his eyes to hold back the tears that had been threatening since he’d been called to the office. “I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I did not mean for this to get so depressing... I AM SORRY.  
> And I had no idea what Enjolras should do in that situation? Like, would he have told the whole truth, or what? I dunno, I just kind of went with it.  
> I think it goes without saying that I have never been in an illicit affair with my teacher, so I had no idea what was going on there. Everyone just said JAVERT a lot.  
> I will be updating again really soon (tomorrow) (one more dayyyyy)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY so if you don't want to be sad, SKIP THIS CHAPTER. I REPEAT, PROGRESS TO THE FINAL CHAPTER. I specifically waited until I had finished both chapters before updating so I could post them together for this specific reason.   
> I assume it's quite possibly going to be as painful to read as it was for me to write.   
> So I AM SORRY in advance.

The little that remained of the day, a free period with Courfeyrac and Jehan for company, then an agonising hour and a half of Classics, passed in an unfocused blur. As soon as Grantaire entered the Classics classroom, Combeferre had fixed him with an icy glare that would have unnerved him, had he not felt so numb.

Grantaire was quiet, turning things over and over in his mind. _What about him and Enjolras now?_ The question had been troubling him since Eponine had asked it, since he was so unsure of the answer. The intervening hours had served to allow doubt to creep in. Would Enjolras even still want to be with Grantaire after he’d almost been fired on his account? True, he’d told Grantaire that he loved him, but maybe Enjolras would realise that he was more trouble than he was worth? After all, Grantaire didn’t consider himself much of a prize, and he knew Enjolras deserved much better.

The more Grantaire thought about it, the more he convinced himself.

When Courfeyrac suggested that the group wander into town and spend the evening in the pub, Grantaire readily accepted, welcoming the chance to drink and forget, even if only for a few hours. It was too easy to sit nursing beer after beer in the corner of their usual table, until he began to feel the familiar buzz. He only half-listened to the group’s conversation, and pointedly ignored the concerned glances his friends kept shooting his way.

With Grantaire’s permission, Courfeyrac had filled everyone in, starting from the very beginning for Marius, Cosette and Bahorel’s benefit. Grantaire couldn’t tell them himself, but thought his friends deserved to know; they were all worried about him, after hearing he’d been called to the Principal’s office, and even moreso when they saw him afterwards.

By the time Grantaire switched from beer to spirits, he was half-slumped against the wall, and the pub had grown busy around them. He was vaguely aware of Eponine shaking him by the arm, and tried to push her away.

“Fuck off, ‘Ponine, I’m fine,” he grumbled, his words coming slowly and slurred.

“You’re bloody not fine, Grantaire,” Eponine said, and although Grantaire couldn’t see her face from the angle at which he was sat, he knew she was frowning at him. “But that’s not – your phone’s ringing.”

“Is it?” Sitting up as best he could, Grantaire felt around in his pockets for his phone and pressed it to his ear. “’Lo?”

“Grantaire?”

“’njolras?!” Grantaire said, sitting bolt upright and making his head spin with the effort. Everyone around the table went silent, and there was a collective intake of breath.

“Are you alright?” Enjolras asked, barely audible over the noise of the pub.

“Y-yeah, yeah,” Grantaire shouted, trying to shuffle out of the corner and get outside, half-falling into Bahorel’s lap in his haste. “Ooops, sorry Bahorel... Just a sec...”

When he’d managed to navigate his way through the pub and out into the almost deserted street, with less stumbling than he had expected, Grantaire put the phone back to his ear. Hopefully the cold air would sober him up a little. Although it was late April, it was unseasonably cold, and being stood outside in the late evening chill was already beginning to clear Grantaire’s head. He ducked around the corner and leaned against the side wall of the pub to shelter from the wind.

“Still there?” He asked hesitantly, trying to sound as sober as possible. If today’s events hadn’t been enough to put Enjolras off Grantaire for good, the fact that he was drunk surely would be.

“Yes.” Enjolras’s reply was immediate, sharp and alert. “Where are you?”

“Mm... just in the pub,” Grantaire said sheepishly. “What’s up?”

There was a short pause, and Grantaire listened to the soft sound of Enjolras’s breathing over the phone line. “This isn’t a conversation I want to have while you’re drunk,” Enjolras said finally, his tone weary. “Get some sleep and I’ll call you tomorrow, alright?”

“No, no, I’m fine, I swear. Not drunk, just a bit tipsy, that’s all. I’m feeling better already. Please just tell me what it is?”

Another pause, this one longer than the first. “I don’t think you’ll want to hear this right now-“

“Just fucking tell me, ‘jolras!” Grantaire interrupted, throwing his free hand up in frustration, any patience he might have had disappeared a few drinks ago. Truthfully, he did feel a lot more alert now, Enjolras’s words beginning to make him uneasy. Thinking about it, he hadn’t really had that much to drink; the hot, stuffy air of the pub would have made him feel light-headed anyway.

“Alright, well... Grantaire, what happened in Javert’s office earlier-“

“Look, I’m sorry, I swear I don’t know how he found out-“

“I wanted to say thank you,” Enjolras said. “And I’m sorry that you had to be put on the spot like that, it couldn’t have been easy for you. I would never have asked you to lie on my behalf. But thank you for – protecting me.”

Huffing a laugh, Grantaire smiled. “’S’okay. You know I’d do anything for you, Enjolras. I’m sorry I got you suspended.”

“I don’t think that’s necessarily such a bad thing,” Enjolras continued. His voice was firm and steady, as if he’d prepared exactly what he was going to say. Knowing Enjolras, that was probably what he’d done. “In fact, I called because I think we should take some time apart.”

Grantaire froze, his smile slipping off his face as the words and all that they implied sank in. “What- what do you mean?”

“Grantaire, listen. What happened today made me stop and think about- whatever it is that’s been going on between us. It wasn’t just my job on the line, Grantaire, you almost got kicked out of school. You wouldn’t have been able to take your exams-“

“I don’t care about that!” Grantaire exclaimed, chewing on his lip and re-opening the cuts from earlier. He slid down the wall until he was sat on the slightly damp pavement. His back was a little grazed as his shirt rode up and scraped against the brickwork, but he barely noticed any of that, instead concentrating on what Enjolras was saying.

“But I do! I l- I care about you, Grantaire.”

Grantaire laughed again, but this time it was entirely humourless. “Yeah, right. I believe you,” he said bitterly. “I thought everything would be fine now.”

Enjolras sighed. “You’re so young,” he said softly. “This isn’t forever, Grantaire. I still want to be with you, I just think it would be better for the both of us if-“

“Bullshit!” Grantaire shouted, the volume of his voice magnified in the silence of the street. “I love you, Enjolras. Fucking hell, I love you so much I can’t stand it. I couldn’t give two shits about A-Levels and - and art school. That doesn’t mean jackshit to me - I just want _you_. Please, please don’t do this to me, Enjolras. Please.” Grantaire’s voice cracked on the last word, his throat tightening. He forced his eyes closed, blinking back his tears. If he started to cry, he’d never stop.

“Grantaire, please believe me, I don’t want to do this either, but it’s...”

“Then don’t,” Grantaire pleaded.

“I’m sorry, this was a bad idea. You’re drunk and I shouldn’t have-” Enjolras broke off, and his voice was shaky, as if he was trying not to cry too. The thought of that made Grantaire feel even worse. “Listen, let me come and pick you up. We’ll talk properly, or I’ll take you home, whatever you need.”

“Save it, Enjolras,” Grantaire said, tears beginning to run down his cheeks in earnest. He hung up, cutting off whatever Enjolras had been about to say, and threw his phone away from him. There was an ominous crack as it hit the opposite wall, disappearing into the dark shadows of the alley.

Grantaire wrapped his arms around his knees, resting his forehead on top of them. Sobs racked his body, giving himself over to tears now. What had he done? Enjolras was being completely reasonable, responsible even, and Grantaire had single-handedly ruined everything.

Jehan found Grantaire like that, curled in on himself while he cried himself hoarse, almost howling with grief, when he came to check on him a few minutes later. Immediately, he dropped to the ground beside his friend, enfolding him in a hug, making soothing noises. Grantaire was glad that it was Jehan who had come outside, as he held him and didn’t press him for questions before he was ready. He was warm, and his jumper was soft, though it was getting soaked with tears.  When Grantaire fell to the side and threw up, Jehan rubbed his back, pulling him back into the comforting grip of his arms after he was done.

“I fucked everything up, Jehan,” Grantaire choked out, when his sobs subsided a little, although he was hiccoughing and his breath was coming much too quickly. “What the fuck am I going to do?”

Shushing him gently, Jehan began to stroke his hair, working out the knots between his fingers. “It’s alright, ‘Taire,” he said, his voice deeper than usual. Grantaire could feel the vibration of it where his cheek was pressed against Jehan’s chest. Although Jehan was a considerable few inches shorter than him, and almost a whole year younger, it made Grantaire feel like a child. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“He said we should take a break,” Grantaire said. “He- he said we should have some time apart, but I didn’t understand, and - and I fucked it up. Shit, what have I done?”

“It’s alright, it’s alright. He knows you’ve had a bit too much to drink, and you weren’t thinking straight. I’m sure Enjolras will understand; he loves you. Do you know what happened earlier?” Jehan asked, when Grantaire let out a derisive snort. “As soon as the lesson finished, I went to his classroom as quickly as I could, and told him you’d been called to see Javert. I’ve never seen anyone act the way he did then. He just looked right past me and almost ran to find you. He wasn’t angry, I don’t think, at least not with you, but he was very intense. Grantaire, he’s crazy about you.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m a poet, remember? Romance is kind of my thing,” Jehan said lightly, his voice soft and high again. “Trust me, everything’s going to be okay. And we’re all here for you, Grantaire.”

And in spite of everything, Grantaire, the perpetual cynic, found himself wanting to believe Jehan’s kind words. He wiped his mouth and wiped his eyes, still snuffling, but feeling better. “Thank you,” he said quietly, as Jehan eased them up off the ground and let him go.

Jehan’s eyes were sparkling with tears when he drew back, though he was smiling. “You’re coming home with me, alright? I’m going to say goodbye to everyone, do you want to wait here?”

Grantaire nodded. He didn’t want the rest of their friends to worry any more than they had to.

“I’ll be right back,” Jehan told him, and disappeared back inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you hate me now  
> Because I hate myself
> 
> But Jehan's fab isn't he. Four for you, Jehan.


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter! wow, so exciting.  
> Kudos to you if you read Chapter 11, because that was a bitch to write.

Grantaire wouldn’t have made it through the first week without his friends. He certainly wouldn’t have made it through that night without Jehan.

When Jehan reappeared, the two of them walked home in companionable silence. The Prouvaires lived just on the edge of town, in a nattily decorated house with a deceptively large roof garden, every inch of space taken up with flowerpots. Jehan’s parents were as sweet as he was, and welcomed Grantaire with a smile, taking one look at his tear-stained face and insisted that he could stay as long as he needed to.

After washing his face and changing into one of Jehan’s warmest jumpers, Grantaire didn’t feel quite so bad. The pain in his chest had faded somewhat, now a dull ache that he doubted would ever go away. He crawled into bed with Jehan, bundled up in various patchwork quilts, and clung to him while he cried.

They both took the next day off school, although Grantaire tried to persuade Jehan that he’d be fine without him. But of course, Jehan wasn’t having any of it, and silenced Grantaire’s protestations with a stern look. That hurt more than Grantaire was expecting it to, the memories of a hundred forceful glares he’d received from Enjolras bringing a lump to his throat.

Instead of school, Jehan and Grantaire lounged around the house. Grantaire painted while Jehan read poetry, tucking fresh flowers into the wild curls of his dark hair; they talked things over again, shared a spliff and chatted idly. When the rest of their friends finished school for the day, they all came over, barrelling through the door and folding Grantaire into the middle of an enormous group hug. At least, until Courfeyrac used all his stealth to edge his way into the centre, as he was wont to do. Embarrassingly, Grantaire started crying _again_ , which made everyone else get a bit emotional too. Even Bahorel turned away, claiming he just ‘had something in his eye’.

Going back to Sixth Form wasn’t easy, and going back to Politics class was even harder. Professor La Marque had come back from his retirement to take over Enjolras’s classes, and although he wasn’t half as engaging as his predecessor, he was a good teacher. For once, Grantaire actually made notes instead of getting distracted.

Grantaire was quite glad to have so much schoolwork keeping him busy. If he was busy, he didn’t have time to brood. He hadn’t consumed any alcohol since that night, either, much to everyone’s intense relief. If that was part of the reason things had gone so terribly with Enjolras, he’d never touch another drop.

His studio art exam went well – as well as it could have done, anyway. He’d put as much effort into his coursework as humanly possible, and decided on the pieces he was taking to his UAL interview. While compiling his portfolio, he’d come across the sketches he’d made of Enjolras, and tucked them away in the back of his desk at home. It hurt to look at them, but he couldn’t bear the thought of throwing them away. He did have some hope for the future, after all, thanks to the support and reassurances of his friends.

As busy as he was, Grantaire still found himself thinking about Enjolras. He still cried much too frequently, particularly when he remembered that Enjolras was the reason he’d even considered art school in the first place, and had helped so much with the application process. Although a significant part of him wanted to succeed for Enjolras, he also started to want to do this for himself too.

But things were rapidly coming to an end, and it didn’t feel good for any of the group. As well as using his work for a distraction, Grantaire was determined to get into the art school he was aspiring to. The rest of his friends had all applied for London-based universities, and if Grantaire didn’t get into UAL, he’d be apart from them. As a first year, Cosette was going to be left behind regardless, but she promised to visit London as often as she could (“Every weekend, you’ll be sick of me!”)

As soon as exams were over, Grantaire had the tiniest pause for breath before he was on the train to London, accompanied by Cosette and Courfeyrac for moral support. The two of them lingered in a nearby _Pret a Manger_ for over an hour while they waited for him to finish his interview, suffering death-stares from the employees for taking up a table during the lunch rush.

His interview wasn’t a complete disaster, although Grantaire had been nervous beyond belief. He’d probably talked a little too much, and too effusively, but the interviewers shook his hand and were enthusiastic about his work. Wandering back to meet Cosette and Courfeyrac in a daze, Grantaire gave a shaky account of what happened. More than anything, he wanted to call Enjolras, or better yet, tell him in person. But he’d left his broken phone in the alley behind the pub, and didn’t know Enjolras’s number.

The three of them got confused and lost on the tube, not realising they were on the wrong line until they reached Brixton, where they promptly stared at each other, aghast and hurried off to consult a tube map. But at long last, Cosette got them all to Charing Cross, declaring that they would see a different West End show every weekend she visited, and they spent the remainder of the afternoon in the National Gallery. Cosette read the placard beside every single painting; Courfeyrac made suggestive comments about all the nude portraits, and Grantaire bought a stack of postcards for Jehan.

In the agonising weeks that followed, Grantaire was horrendously anxious. Since the Summer had now begun in earnest, he made as many plans with his friends as possible. They whiled away the time until results with aimless wandering around town, and barbeques at Cosette’s castle of a house, awkwardly exchanging pleasantries with her father.

(“Please, call me Jean.”

“His name is _Jean_ Val _jean_?”

“Shh, Courf.”)

The day Grantaire got his results was one of the happiest days of his life – only beaten by the days spent with Enjolras. A respectable B in Classics, an A in Government and Politics, and astonishingly, an A* in Art. The lot of them gathered together in the Musain to open their envelopes together, and Grantaire had to ask every single one of them for confirmation because he could _not_ believe it. Marius stunned them all with his two A grades in French and German, and an A* in Classics.

“Well, I’m not _stupid_ ,” Marius said, a little affronted that his friends were so shocked. “I know I’m... awkward, but...”

“Socially incompetent would be more accurate, Pontmercy,” Eponine teased. “Not to mention completely fucking oblivious.”

Waiting for Grantaire when he got home was an even more welcome surprise, his letter from UAL. He sat staring the thing down for about an hour, until he prepared for the worst and worked up the nerve to tear it open. As soon as his eyes skimmed the first line and lit upon ‘ _Congratulations_ ’, he felt like he was going to faint. Instead, he dropped his head onto the table with a dull thud, his heart racing and his lips silently forming the word ‘Enjolras’.

So, the lot of them, minus a tearful Cosette, were off to London. Grantaire’s goodbyes with his mother were brief and emotionless; they’d never been close, and that didn’t look to be changing any time soon. Still, it was odd to pack everything he owned into cardboard boxes stolen from the supermarket, and look around the room he’d occupied for almost nineteen years when it stood empty. He remembered to pack the sketches of Enjolras among his things, though the pencil lines were smudged from tracing his fingers over them too often.

Somehow, Grantaire, Jehan and Courfeyrac managed to stuff all of their luggage into Courf’s tiny little car, and made a road trip of the journey down. Grantaire was the reluctant driver for most of it, while Jehan and Courfeyrac shared the passenger seat, turning the radio up when their kisses progressed a little too far. It was nothing short of a miracle that they weren’t pulled over, since they had to be breaking at least ten different road safety laws, not to mention the fact that Grantaire only had a provisional license, and wasn’t insured on Courfeyrac’s shitbox car.

The three of them, along with Marius, Eponine and Bahorel, found a reasonably priced flat to share, though they’d all have to navigate the underground every day to get to their respective campuses. Grantaire guessed they’d get used to it. Eventually.

They found a coffee shop to claim for their own, and in the grand tradition of students everywhere, spent countless hours crowded inside it, moaning about assignments instead of actually getting them done.

As time went on, Grantaire wasn’t quite happy, but he was comfortable. He had the best friends in the world, and he was studying a subject he loved. He quickly grew accustomed to living in the capital, figuring out how to avoid the tourist hotspots and by extension, the camera-wielding visitors who had the uncanny knack of getting in the way wherever they went.

He took to hanging around in their new cafe to sketch, sitting alone there for an hour or two while the rest of his friends were in class. On an unusually warm November afternoon, he found himself automatically walking in that direction after a studio session, sketchbook tucked under his arm.

When he went inside, and began to drift over to their usual couch, he stopped abruptly. It was occupied, and Grantaire would recognise the occupant anywhere.

Holding his breath and hardly daring to believe his eyes, Grantaire forced himself to walk over slowly, rather than running as he desperately wished to, whether it was back the way he’d come or into Enjolras’s arms.

As Grantaire approached, Enjolras turned his head, and _Good God_ , Grantaire had forgotten how beautiful he was. The memories just didn’t do him justice. He had lost a little weight, and his hair was a little longer, freed from the hold of gel and curling at the ends; he hadn’t shaved in a while, and it looked as if he hadn’t slept properly in a while either. But for all that, he was still breathtaking. In fact, he looked incredible, and a great deal younger.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras said, a little cautiously, although his face lit up in earnest.

“Hello,” Grantaire replied, sitting a respectable distance away from Enjolras, when all he wanted to do was climb into his lap and never leave. “Fancy seeing you here.” He tried not to cringe at his uninspiring choice of words. _Top marks for creativity, R._

“I – hope you don’t mind,” Enjolras said. “I ran into Courfeyrac near the station earlier, and he said I could find you here. If I hadn’t, I guess I’d have just been wandering around London all day.” The ‘looking for you’ went unspoken.

“Thank God for Courfeyrac, then,” Grantaire said with a smile. “I knew I kept him around for a reason. Although you could have asked Cosette, you know.”

Enjolras closed his eyes briefly, and gave a short, bitten-off laugh, a sound that Grantaire hadn’t heard for so long. “Would you believe me if I told you that really didn’t occur to me?”

“Evidently,” Grantaire said, laughing. He hadn’t felt so weightless and cheerful in such a long time. He’d missed Enjolras so much.

“You changed your hair,” Enjolras said after a moment.

Grantaire ran a self-conscious hand through what remained of his curls. In late September, Jehan had spontaneously decided to cut his own hair, snipping off his braid without a moment’s thought. The new, shorter style suited him as well as the old one did, and he still adorned himself with a floral garland around his head. When he’d finished cutting his own hair, he’d found Grantaire and coaxed him into having his wild mop of hair tamed too. He’d agreed to let Jehan do whatever he wanted, ending up with an undercut; he ignored Eponine’s various comments about his new ‘hipster haircut’, because it actually wasn’t so bad. If Jehan’s poetry didn’t work out, he could have a very promising career as a hairdresser.

By November, Grantaire’s curls had grown out a bit, and looked the better for it, but the basic style was still there. “Yeah, yeah I did,” Grantaire said.

“I like it,” Enjolras said. “But, Grantaire, I actually came here to – to apologise. I-”

Hopefully it wouldn’t go as badly as Enjolras’s last apology, Grantaire thought briefly, before shaking his head. “You’ve got nothing to say sorry for, Enjolras. I was a huge dick, I’m the one who should be sorry. And I am, by the way. I’m _really_ sorry for fucking everything up.”

“I’d nearly forgotten how much you love to interrupt me,” Enjolras said wryly, prompting Grantaire to mime zipping his mouth shut. “I _do_ need to apologise. I was insensitive, after everything that happened that day, it was cruel of me to say the things I did. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I guess... What I’m trying to say is that I should have handled things better. Would you possibly think about giving me another chance? If you’re not already involved with someone else, I mean.”

“Are you crazy?” Grantaire said in disbelief. “You don’t even need to ask that question, Enjolras.”

“It’s just, I tried to call, but-“

“I broke my phone,” Grantaire explained, fidgeting with the dog-eared corner of his sketchbook. “But anyway, why the hell would I want to find someone else when it’s you that I love?”

“You still love me,” Enjolras said, more to himself than to Grantaire, his voice heavy with relief.

“How could I not?” Grantaire closed the gap between them and pressed himself into Enjolras’s side, winding his arms around his neck, his head fitting just under Enjolras’s chin, as if it were made to be put there. “I love you, Enjolras,” he repeated, closing his eyes and inhaling the familiar scent.

Grantaire felt Enjolras give a long exhale, bringing his arms around to pull Grantaire as close as possible, one hand finding its way into his hair. “I love you, Grantaire,” Enjolras said fervently. After that, there was nothing left to say. They loved each other, they could work out the rest. Enjolras eased Grantaire’s head off his collarbone, leaning down to find his lips in a kiss.

It was slow and languid, both of them slipping into a natural rhythm and fitting their mouths together, Grantaire’s lower lip caught between Enjolras’s. Grantaire stroked a palm across the soft expanse of Enjolras’s neck, finding his pulse point with his thumb and feeling the elevated beat beneath the skin. At the first touch of Enjolras’s tongue on his own, Grantaire pulled back. At the rate things were going, their activities were going to become increasingly horizontal and unsuitable for a public place.

Their faces were still close enough for Grantaire to feel Enjolras’s breath on his mouth, and he pressed their foreheads together, trying to be mindful of the awkward angle at which Enjolras’s neck was bent, but not wanting to break apart.

“So, did – did you want to get coffee?” Enjolras asked hesitantly.

“Screw the coffee,” Grantaire replied, kissing him again. “Let me show you the flat. No one’s home.”

Grantaire wasn’t sure who got to their feet quicker, himself or Enjolras, but they both rushed for the door hand in hand. On the way home, they stopped several times for another lot of kisses. For the first time ever, Grantaire was happy for rush-hour crowding on the tube, pressing himself as close to Enjolras as he could while they stood in the aisle; every seat, and every decent space to stand, was happily in use.

And when he looked up at Enjolras, and saw the completely peaceful expression on his face, Grantaire had to smile. They were going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it ends! But not really, because I have a smutty sequel to finish and post tomorrow. It's really just a 'what happens when they get back to Grantaire's empty flat'. So sue me.
> 
> Anyway, thank you SO, SO MUCH to everyone who read/commented/left kudos. I couldn't have finished this without you guys. I love you all xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


End file.
